Category Archives: Humour

Life is too short to scrub gussets

25 Sunday Mar 2018

Posted by in Humour, Parenting, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Life is too short to scrub gussets
Some advice both useful and sage –
I give it to you with my blessing
To apply it to life’s every stage.

It’s particularly apt when training
Small bottoms to use mini loos –
Because rubbing the poo out of cotton
Can give you the laundry blues.

The very worst bit of the process
Is keeping your cool unconcern
When faced with more toxic hand-washing
From a child taking AGES to learn.

So if you’ve got a toilet-resistor
And you’ve quite reached the end of your rope,
Let go of your scruples and Persil!
And save yourself heartache and soap.

Go buy up some Paw Patrol knickers
In cheap B&M packs of five –
And when the next accident happens
Chuck them out and raid your supplies!

My thanks must go to the woman
Who first passed this secret to me
It’s the key to zen potty training –
Untroubled by stray poos or wee.

The rule works for other odd soilings
(From quickies to menstrual leaks)
So abandon those pants with abandon –
And discard them without blushing cheeks!

Yes, I officially give you permission
To bugger the unseemly waste
Because life is too short to scrub gussets –
A new mantra to wholly embrace.

‘Trauma Trim’ – the desiccated frog diet

18 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by in Divorce, Humour

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EXCITING NEWS!!!! I’m so excited to tell you guys that I’m bringing out a new diet book, all about how to drop up to 20kg in 3 months!

I’m going to call it ‘Trauma Trim’ – and it basically involves having a lump of grief in your throat so big you can’t actually swallow any food!

How has no one thought of this before??? I’m going to be rich, I tell you, RICH!

Move over Lean-in-15 beardy man and Clean-Eating-Alice-the-Camel – this is clearly the next big diet fad!

The Kardashians might even endorse it.

Probably.

As I’ve only just hit on this genius weight loss method, I will admit it’s not quite what I’d hoped for… although I might not include that in the book.

I always thought losing a few pounds would suddenly make me Cosmo-bikini-svelte. Turns out I’ve still got all the same lumpy wobbly bits in exactly the same ratios, it’s just all smaller than it was before. It’s the same body just 30% less.

In fact if anything, the thin bits are hollowed out and the wobbly bits are protruding even further by comparison, giving me rather the appearance of a desiccated frog.

Only with worse posture.

And saggier tits.

People always say the traditional break-up slim-down is nature’s way of making you attractive for your next partner.

People are pretty freaking stupid, sometimes, aren’t they?

On the other hand, if you know any eligible bachelors who are particularly INTO the desiccated frog look, you now know exactly where to send them.

Only don’t, because it’s drier than the Arizona desert down there and I’m thinking of having the whole thing sewn up for being a damn sight more trouble than it’s worth.

Xxx

9 reasons Moana is the best Disney film EVER

21 Sunday Jan 2018

Posted by in Humour, Motherhood, Parenting

≈ 2 Comments

  1. There’s not a sniff of romance

It’s a good old fashioned adventure story, with a girl as the main protagonist – and without a love interest in sight.

It’s almost as if people can find meaning in life and relationships beyond romantic love! Imagine!

  1. It’s a feminist utopia – in both the film and the village of Motunui

Not only is the main character female, but she never has to pretend not to be (or indeed pretend to be anything she’s not). Neither is she the ONLY female character of substance, which is surprisingly revolutionary.

Plus she’s going to be the next Chief of the village despite being female, and without the need to marry.

As she says to Maui – she ain’t no Princess.

Boo yah.

  1. She’s got thick ankles

Okay, so her eyes still take up 50% of her face, she’s got perfect tresses (although she does tie them back out of the way for sailing at one point), and she’s obviously as thin as a whip.

But she does have thick ankles, strong legs and arms, so I am going to count this as progress in the animated portrayal of realistic body types.

  1. Her animal sidekick is a vacant, agoraphobic chicken

What is not to like here??? Comic genius. Whoever came up with this nugget (chicken, obvs) almost certainly did not get the recognition they deserve.

  1. Her parents aren’t dead!

This never bothered me that much as a kid, but as a parent I find myself strongly resenting Disney’s ongoing penchant for patricide. Save the Parents!!!!!

  1. The casting of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson

I’ve never been a particular fan, but have nevertheless apparently been harbouring a benign tolerance for Dwayne, which has grown (as a direct result of his involvement in Moana) into full-blown affection.

If I hear any #metoo #timesup Hollywood crap about him I’m actually going to be mildly heartbroken. (A bit like I was over Rolf Harris).

If you find yourself with a spare 5 minutes, look up Dwayne actually singing ‘You’re Welcome’ in person. I promise you it is well worth your time.

  1. The songs

The sound track is flat out awesome. In fact ‘We Know the Way’ is probably my new favourite song in the world ever.

  1. The twist

***Spoiler alert!***

Te Ka the big bad monster is not really a monster.

!

Too often plot twists are now shoehorned into narratives at the climax and make no sense to the story that’s actually been told – adding nothing but cheap shock value and leaving the audience (or at least me) with a vague sense of betrayal.

In contrast this twist is rather beautiful.

  1. The ending

I think I *may* have taken the ending far too much to heart, but it resonates with me so much I literally tear-up every time I watch it. (Which is a lot, as I have equally Moana-obsessed Small People).

I’m not entirely sure what finding psychological comfort in Disney says about me, but hey, I’ll take it where I can get it. The lyrics:

‘I have crossed the horizon to find you
I know your name
They have stolen the heart from inside you
But this does not define you.
This is not who you are –
You know who you are’

I recognise myself in that burnt out husk of a woman that is Te Ka, lashing out, afraid, protecting what she has left of herself, clawing her way on hands and needs in roaring desperation towards Moana.

Towards youth, and truth, and clarity.

My heart was stolen from me – and like Te Fiti I didn’t even realise until it was gone and the rot had already spread through my life. Until it had turned what used to be good to ash, on the inside, where no one else could see it. Like the coconuts of Motunui.

But this is not who I am.
This is not what defines me.
I know who I was, and who I can be again.
I know who I am on the inside.

I am love.

I just needed my heart returned to me.
And it’s been a very long journey to find it.
And now I get to grow again.

So, you know, if you haven’t yet seen it – please do. It really is a great film – for girls and boys, mums and dads.

 

Mumonthenetheredge

xx

 

10 indoor activities for the cold and tired

07 Thursday Dec 2017

Posted by in Humour, Parenting

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Getting out of the house with small children is notoriously hard. It’s even harder in the cold when they have to be bundled into a million layers (but not in the car seat, because safety) and are allergic to both gloves and simultaneously/frustratingly to even very mildly chilly fingers.

It’s harder still when you are bone-deep tired.

That’s pretty much a feature of winter for lots of people – whether it’s Seasonal Affective Disorder, party season, or just a loooooong half term.

(This year I’m extra tired because it turns out emotional turmoil and break-ups are pretty exhausting, and also seem to be playing havoc with my already dicky thyroid).

The only thing harder than going out when you’re running on zero – in terms of both energy and degrees centigrade – is STAYING IN.

Especially staying in with over-excited, over-tired, chocolate-maddened, Santa-feverish children.

In case this rings a bell (jingle, of course), I have put together a list of my top 10 low-effort things to do indoors with children in December!

 

  1. Tattoo parlours

So you’ve exhausted all colouring based activities. Don’t reach for the glitter! (Things are not yet that bad – and they probably never will be, I promise).

Instead, change the canvas! Get out the felt tips, roll up your leggings and let the kids play tattoo parlours! You get to lie down on the carpet and rest your eyes while the kids go to work.

Tip tips:

  • Don’t actually go to sleep, or the children will soon tire of your legs and start on each other’s faces/the cat. School and nursery will not be impressed. Neither will the cat.
  • Also, don’t do this if you want to wear any hosiery below 100 denier any time in the next 2 weeks.
  • Finally, please don’t judge my weird alien toes and saggy old lady knees in this picture. Cheers. 

 

  1. Colour pouring

Every kid loves a bit of pouring! Invest in some cheap paper party cups for novelty pouring value, and some food colouring. Lay out a big beach towel, and let them pour to their little hearts’ content.

Your role here is to sit in the sofa and accept cups of tea – which will get increasingly browner and more tea-like as the activity goes on.

Top tips:

  • Add in a till and other stuffed toy customers to create a cafe.
  • The trick here is to limit the volumes of water. You don’t need loads, because pretty colours, kids!
  • Also, just forget about your carpet. You’ve got small children – write it off. You can have nice things in another 5 years or so. Maybe. Though by that time the cat will be so traumatised and elderly it will start pissing on everything … Okay, look, you’ll wait until they’ve all left home (one way or another).

 

  1. Toy washing

Like the above really, but with bubbles. Let them wash all hard toys, and provide old toothbrushes and cloths to help.

Wash tangled Barbie hair with cheap conditioner and encourage them to open a hairdressing salon afterwards. (Brushing takes hours).

Top tip:

  • Turn up the heating and dress them in swimming costumes.

Warning:

  • There will be wet patches. Roll with it. (Kitchen roll).

 

  1. Let them raid your make-up

Look, your make-up is shite. You’ve had it for years, some of it is almost certainly out of date, and it ain’t hiding the wrinkles anyway.

Take out the few bits you use everyday and abandon them to the rest. It’s nothing a bath can’t fix – and will keep them happy for hours. Plus you get to ask relatives for new stuff for Christmas! Think Elizabeth Earle rather than No 17! Life goals!

Top tips:

  • To be administered on a plastic tablecloth! (Although this still won’t save your doomed carpet. Sorry).
  • If you are feeling very brave (or very tired) let them do your make-up too (lying down). Then take funny selfies so you feel like a good parent. Then put them on Facebook so you feel like a really REALLY good parent.

 

  1. Play dates

Stay indoors, but at someone else’s house!

Genius.

They have different toys, and hopefully tea and biscuits. And they have children your children can play with without involving you!!!! (Either that or the combination of children will prove so awful and feral that you will constantly be breaking up fights and be forced to leave early. Still, it’s a day out).

Top tip:

  • Invite yourself round on the pretext of  just ‘dropping off some Christmas presents’. If you all then stand at the door looking hopeful and in need of tea, very few British people will turn you away. Exploit this weakness!

Warning:

  • They may return the visit!!!!

 

  1. Doctors and nurses

When you’re next in Tesco, pop by the medicine aisle for some new plasters and bandages. I reckon if you do some sort of comedy fall and lie moaning on the sofa you can get a good 25 minutes of horizontal time while you are poked and prodded and bandaged.

Tip tip:

  • You may have to fall out if bed once or twice to extend your hospital stay – this is a small price to pay.

 

  1. Christmas Eve

Get in some Christmas practice by playing Santa! Bring duvets and pillows downstairs to make beds, and take it in turns to be Father Christmas delivering presents. Assemble odds and ends and small toys which can be deposited in stockings (or – lazy option – the socks you’re wearing) and opened with delight and wonder over and over and over again. And again.

Top tips:

  • Try and be the person asleep in bed as much as possible as it involves lying down, obvs.
  • Try not to poke your own eyes out at the sheer monotony of imaginative play.
  • Add in the afternoon snack (wrapped in cling film) when it’s your go as Santa.

 

  1. Christmas pass the parcel

This is a sitter, not a lie-er. Wrap random small stuff in layers of muslins and assemble favourite stuffed toys in a circle. Go.

Tip tips:

  • Place any naughty toys who aren’t taking turns sharing on the naughty step. Hours of disciplining fun for their Small Person owners!
  • Extend the party to include musical statues and knackered-parenting classic SLEEPING LIONS.

 

  1. Christmas cards

You cannot get through Christmas without crap craft. Sorry. But if you make cards (still no glitter!) the crap craft has to leave your house and go and live elsewhere! Result!

Top tip:

  • Take it with you when you execute no 5. Then they’ll defo be obliged to put the kettle on.

 

  1. Hide and seek

Kids are rubbish at both hiding and seeking (at least mine are), so you have the natural advantage of the field.

Top tips:

  • Lie down flat in any bed at any given opportunity and get in a few minutes duvet time.
  • Sit on the sofa for a bit describing your detailed seeking activity, without actually doing it. (Let’s face it, you already know where they are and can probably see them). Every rest-second counts.

 

If all else fails you’re just going to have to watch a Ceebeebies panto. Again.

Good luck in there parents!

Remember, very soon every day will be getting a little bit lighter. (But not warmer. Bummer).

Mumonthenetheredge

Xx

 

27 things to do in Sheffield in the last week of Summer Holidays – Mumonthenetheredge style

27 Sunday Aug 2017

Posted by in Humour, Motherhood, Parenting

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  1. Lose your SH…. **Rag** before 9.30am.
  2. Wonder how the hell you’re going to get everyone out of the house by 7.45 when school starts again.
  3. Spend 30 mins blowing up the slow-punctured paddling pool for the 800th time, for 5 mins play before everyone falls out.
  4. Head to the park – any park you haven’t already been to in the last 48 hours. Instantly regret this. Subdue urge to roar at other people’s holiday-feral children. (And your own – you’re now in public).
  5. Realise your kids’ school shoes no longer fit, and make a last minute dash to Clarks.
  6. While in town, promise the kids you’ll go to the final few days of The Beach… Realise it has ended. [WARNING: ENDS TODAY!!!!] Brace for Force 10 tantrums.
  7. Pack the eleventeenth trillionth picnic of the season, knowing they’re only going to eat the crisps and then ask for ice creams 10 mins later.
  8. Contemplate the sheer pointlessness of cucumbers.
  9. Go to Weston Park Museum to feed the ducks, chase the pigeons, and play in the Viking Hut and Boat. (Top tip: get a large, large coffee from the Starbucks over the road).
  10. Plan a final summer holiday Glorious Family Day Out – perhaps at The Deep, or at Yorkshire Wildlife Park. Good luck. You’ll need it.
  11. Head up to Manor Lodge for crafts, lavender maze fun, hide and seek in the ruins, and maybe a donkey ride. (One of my fave places).
  12. Throw the crafts out surreptitiously 2 days later. There is only so much crap art one house can bear, after all. 
  13. Call everyone you know begging for a play date to dilute the company of your children. Try not to appear too desperate/crazed.
  14. Toy with the idea of a trip to Chatsworth House Farm and Adventure Play Area. Remember this will be mayhem like ordinary parks x104  (see no 4), and seriously doubt your own fortitude.
  15. Spend the entry money on a lunch out instead, at The Wheatsheaf in Baslow, where you can watch the children on the play equipment and DRINK ALCOHOL!!!! (You’ll need to employ a designated driver).
  16. Go to Bakewell on the bus (entertainment in itself) for a poke around the shops, a play in a novel new playground (and splash area) and take bread for a classic game of Fish or Duck? over the bridge (who gets the bread first – I’m Team Fish).
  17. Break out the art supplies. Desperate times call for desperate measures! (I mean, not the glitter, it’s not that bad yet, but definitely the paints). Encourage small creations – possibly decorating pasta, or stones.
  18. Leave small creations as Bogart gifts at the Longshaw Estate. Walk down to the ducks, if you can bear the whining about enforced exercise. (And if the poor ducks in/around Sheffield can bear any more feeding after 5 weeks of summer holidays).
  19. On no account allow children to check gifts on the way back, as the Bogarts always fail to collect them in a timely manner. Lazy little b-stards.
  20. Invest in bath paints. Minutes of fun! And don’t wait for official bathtime. 11am is a perfectly acceptable time to wash children when you have failed to leave the house with them and they are driving you round the bend.
  21. Wait for a really really sunny day, and then find an INDOOR PLAY AREA, in the hopes that everyone else will be making the most of the sunshine outside, therefore avoiding other people’s children! I like something small where I can keep an eye on both children at once.
  22. Introduce a kiddie bubble disco at 4pm everyday in a desperate effort to re-impose a routine and stop the late afternoon scrapping. Depending on your sanity levels, feel free to include/exclude the Hokey Cokey.
  23. Ceebeebies marathon. No one will judge you at this point. (Especially if you don’t tell them).
  24. Serve pasta for tea for the 2 billionth time this August, knowing deep down most of it will go into the bin. Again. Weep silently into the pan to salt the water (optional), and pray for the return of your childcare so someone else can feed them.
  25. Bugger it all and just hang out at the @851 baby cafe, desperately hiding from your children behind a coffee and a slice of cake.
  26. Wait with as much patience as you can muster for bedtime.
  27. Invest in a supply of finest Sheffield GIN to see you through the week!

Enjoy!

OR

Get proper ideas of what’s on over at Little Sheffield, and fabulous tried and tested reviews at Trips with a Tot.

Mumonthenetheredge

Oh Bedtime, Wherefore Art Thou?

24 Thursday Aug 2017

Posted by in Humour, Motherhood, Parenting, Poetry

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O Bedtime, wherefore art thou? You’re taking bloody ages.
The kids have worn away my calm, by scrapping, screaming stages.
It’s surely time for tea quite soon, and then they’ve got to bathe
And then you’ll come, O Wondrous One, my sanity to save.
It’s not that I don’t love them, or treasure every second –
It’s just it’s so relentless, and harder than I’d reckoned.
I’ve smiled, I’ve shushed, I’ve wiped their  bums, (and noses and the floor)
I’ve played at mermaids, painted pictures, upheld turn-taking law.
I’ve fed them food (which they’ve ignored) and stopped them eating mud,
I’ve hugged and kissed it better when one of them draws blood.
I’ve been a horse, I’ve been a chef, I’ve even been a hanky –
A pillow and a punch bag (which made me somewhat cranky).
We’ve done the park, we’ve read a book, the baby had a nap
But now it’s time to put them down and claim my own self back.
I want to drink a nice hot drink, I want to be alone,
I want to look at pictures of them, scrolling through my phone.
I want the chance to miss them, I want a bit of peace
I want to want them in my arms, while I bask in sheer relief.
So please be kind, O Bedtime, and peaceful and serene,
Let lullabies yield to sleep – and sleep per chance to dream.
Let there be no more wees, wails for water, or demands for one last book,
No more existential questions, as a conversational hook.
Let them close their eyes and remember the best of all our fun,
And forget the bits I didn’t do, the bits that I got wrong.
Let me see long lashes rest on cheeks, and hands curl under chins,
Let my heart fill up with love again, and forgive their transgressions.
Tomorrow is a whole new world, to explore and start anew
But only if I get the chance – to watch them, and renew.
For there’s something rather magical about a child relaxed in slumber –
That unwinds the day’s frustrations back to sentimental wonder.
So by any name, O Bedtime – just please tonight be sweet
(And maybe slightly early, ‘cos I’m dead upon my feet).

13 tips for a day out at The Deep

29 Saturday Jul 2017

Posted by in Humour, Motherhood, Parenting, Review

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The Small Small is 2, I thought. What can we do together as a family to mark this key milestone in her small life? I know! A Glorious Family Excursion!

Animals!

Movement!

Neon lighting!

The opportunity to get wet!

BOOM!

The Deep…  

So from personal experience, here’s 13 top tips to help you have a great day out.

 

  1. Plan ahead

The first step of preparation for a trip to The Deep is to get all family members on board.

For me, this involved a slow drip-feed introduction of the concept to Dadonthenetherdege over several weeks, as he alas suffers less from the blissful amnesia I clearly enjoy in between our Glorious Family Excursions.

(I can’t say we got to the point where he thought it was his original idea – the pinnacle of spousal management techniques – but he did come to a point of weary resignation. Win!)

It’s also a good idea to engage the Smalls, as they all hate any form of surprise. Fortunately ‘Fish’ is one of the few animals the Small Small can consistently identify – so this process was more successful than I originally anticipated. So we started talking about fish, reading Tiddler, and watching Nemo.

I momentarily considered an oceanic craft project but sat down with a cup of tea until the urge went away.

“Shall we go and see the fishies?” I asked encouragingly. “FISH!” Responded the small small, rather in the manner of Cat from Red Dwarf.

Maximum Mummy points! I thought. (I never learn).

  1. Brace

Ok, the next top tip for a successful trip to The Deep is to brace for the price. On the day it’s £12.50 for an adult, and £10.50 for a kid.

The good news is that if you pre-book online you can save a couple of quid, under 3s are FREE, there’s a deal which means you get to go back within the year for FREE, too.

Free is always fab, but just be aware it’s a helluva trek from Sheffield for what amounts to four hours entertainment, and four (quite big) tanks of fish you basically just get to see from multiple angles. (Including a lift).

Just saying – mostly because my chances of persuading Dadonthenetheredge to return within the next 12 months are remote to “Ha ha ha you must be bloody kidding me.”

  1. Get there early

If you want to avoid queue, like most folk do, or want to avoid people – like I do – then get there just before opening time! By the time we went in the queue was pretty long.

This did of course involve leaving Sheffield on time, which with two excited Smalls to corral, a recalcitrant husband to chivvy, and a picnic to pack (see 5), was no mean feat.

  1. Take in car entertainment

I’m sure it’s possible to get to The Deep by public transport but I’m buggered if I know how. (My kids are hard enough to manage strapped down in a car, let alone toddling all over a train harassing innocent travellers and colouring in the upholstery).

After attempting Eye Spy with the world’s worst loser (Big Small), someone who only knows the colour yellow (Small Small), and someone who can only communicate in transit to comment adversely (and occasionally non-verbally) on other road users (Dadonthenetheredge), I moved valiantly on to a sing-song. My ingenuity ran short at the 85th verse of Wheels on the bus (what DO amoebas do on the bus, anyway?), whereupon I gave up all pretense of good parenting and just gave the children electronic devices.

Don’t do this.

There was apparently not enough screen time left, and the children had to be surgically separated from Peppa Pig and Furbie-wotsit at the other end – a process I’m given to understand from the screaming was quite painful.

  1. Take a picnic

On busy days the food bits fill up fast, but there’s a whole room set aside for picnic-ers. You do have to drag a picnic round the whole bloody place, mind. But this problem can be easily solved by no 11.

  1. Set expectations

My kids arrived at The Deep expecting to see fish.

There were two minor problems with this.

The first (and possibly least relevant to anyone else) is that Dadonthenetheredge’s priority upon arriving anywhere, is to find the cafe and drink tea.

No one else wants to do this, because we are excited and want to get on with the action. But Dadonthenetheredge is our designated driver, by virtue of the fact my physical coordination, observation skills and general decision making render it inadvisable for me to be in charge of a 2 tonne lump of metal moving at 80 mph and containing everyone I love.

We therefore have very little choice about the designated driver thing, and apparently the tea thing, which is the price in gratitude we are required to pay for his driving services. (I’m considering turning him in for a new model with the non-tea-fuelled energy of a 21 year old – or investing in a chauffeur. Or thermos. Probably a thermos.)

The second and far more general issue in terms of expectation setting, is that there aren’t any bloody fish for the first 2,000 metre meander into the bowels of The Deep facility.

No, instead of fish you get a museum about the HISTORY of fish. My kids don’t care about the history of fish. Neither do I, to be honest, especially when trying to herd increasingly indignant Smalls in public places.

“Where da fish, mummy?” Asked the Small Small. FIVE BILLION TIMES.

The Big Small settled for sulking her way down, while the Small Small entertained herself by getting stuck in a terminal question loop, poking her fingers into the little neon floor lights, falling flat on her face, screaming, tripping up other Deep patrons and steadfastly refusing to hold anyone’s hand.

By the time we got down to the first ACTUAL tank of ACTUAL fish, she was over the whole thing.

She declined the opportunity to even glance in the direction of the tank, and went to play on some viewing steps. She proceeded to completely ignore the presence of all fish – and me telling her that we’ve got knob-wombling steps at home.

FFS.

  1. Don’t go with anyone actually interested in the history of fish

For. The. Love. Of. God.

  1. Don’t watch Happy Feet before hand

So you know that scene in the film where Mumble wakes up in a tiny weird room where aliens stare at him and all the penguins are mindless zombies hypnotised by free fish, boredom and hopelessness?

Yeah, well, that.

  1. Sharpen your elbows

There is an interactive section at The Deep where your children can get the sensory and educational experience of touching real sea-creatures! Amazing! What an opportunity!

The only problem is that the demo space is two metres long, and every single child within a 5 mile radius has assembled along it, flanked by their doting parents taking pictures.

If you want a look-in you are going to have to be *THAT* pushy parent, use your elbows, possibly covertly assault or otherwise sabotage a few small children, and say things like “Yes darling I’m sure it will be your turn soon” in a loud and passive-aggressive voice, in the hope other parents will move out of the bloody way.

This is going to kill part of whatever soul you have left.

When you do get to the front, of course, the attendant will immediately pack up the demo, or your child will suddenly recall a deathly fear of starfish, refuse to touch anything and scream like a freaking banshee.

Have fun.

10. Don’t mention the soft play!

In an effort to distract the Small Small from her beloved steps – I happened to point out the soft play zone at the very bottom of The Deep. Bad move. She promptly abandoned the steps and raced through the rest of the exhibit with a single minded focus she clearly doesn’t inherit from me – or I’d be a damn sight more successful at life than I actually am.

The soft play is tiny, and consists of a few crash-mat toys and building blocks. It was unfortunately also populated wall-to-wall by fished-out, museum-feral children – some of whom were 15 if they were a bloody day.

Not entirely unreasonably, the Small Small took exception to this arrangement, and decided to throw a massive planking tantrum.

At this point frankly I struggled not to join her.

  1. Kidnap a disabled person

Fortuitously, we remembered to take with us as one of our party a person with mobility issues.

This turned out to be a stroke of genius, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. If you don’t know one, you may have to resort to nefarious means to secure them – but you do not want to leave home without one.

The Deep allows you to hire wheelchairs and mobility scooters, and the latter saved our bacon. Or fish. Definitely our day.

It proved the most popular of The Deep’s attractions (for my ungrateful prodgency, anyway) and even rated higher with the Small Small than STEPS. Imagine! We therefore managed to catch the children smiling while being given a ride, in between arguing over who’s turn it was, obvs.

These, of course, are the record we put up on Facebook of the birthday outing.

The scooter is also handy, btw, for transporting your picnic around. (See 5).  

  1. Remember the blindfolds

You will need these on entry and exit to avoid your Smalls seeing the absolutely ginormous gift shop that they’ve kindly made it impossible to circumnavigate.

It being a birthday celebration and the Small Small having taken zero sodding interest in anything else (besides the mobility scooter – see 11), we caved when she showed a passing fancy for a stuffed seal, and purchased an extra birthday present.

She has literally never touched it since.

  1. Don’t take my kids

If it is not obvious to you by now, my top tip for a successful trip to The Deep this Summer Holiday is just not to take my kids with you.

I may have this tattooed on my own arm for next time I consider a Glorious Family Excursion.

Good luck out there.

 

Mumonthenetheredge

 

Want more ideas of stuff to do this half term? Visit the wonderful Little Sheffield –  www.littlesheffield.org.uk.

 

Want PROPER reviews of places to go and things to do? Go find Niomi over on Trips With A Tot – www.tripswithatot.com

 

7 things I’ve learned in the first year of school

20 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by in Humour, School

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  1. You can never have too much uniform.

Having started out extravagantly last September with an outfit for each school day, we’ve limped to the end of term with just two t-shirts, a skirt, a single jumper, and one very short, very crumpled summer dress with a chewed collar and a few perma-art stains.

Fortunately, every third day of school appears to be a non-uniform day. (Note to self: pick up more small envelopes in which to place endless pound coins for various/random activities/theme days).

  1. Literacy is slow but amazing.

There’s no denying that we’ve found the reading and writing thing a rather difficult process. The Big Small started out enthusiastic, but wanted to be able to do it instantly and soon got bored when it turned out to be quite hard, and involve actual concentration and rules.

When it comes to practice at home, she doesn’t want to do it, is surly and inexplicably upside down when forced into it, and refuses to be instructed by mere parents: “That’s not how we write it in school mummy”.

Internal monologue:  “It’s the letter fucking ‘s’! I’ve been writing the letter ‘s’ since I was 5. I write for a living. I’m pretty sure I know which way round it’s supposed to fucking point!!!!”

External monologue: “Let’s try it again darling!”
“Look how it’s written in this book!”
“Start with the pencil here…”
“No, don’t throw a tantrum, you’ve nearly got it!”
“Darling, look, you’ve got to go down the snake.”
“No, no, it’s this way.”
“It IS how you do in it school, daring.”
“It’s the letter EFFING ‘s’! I’ve been writing the letter ‘s’ since I was 5. I write for a living. I’m pretty sure I know which way round it’s supposed to EFFING POINT!!!!”

Anyhoo, rather to my surprise, we’ve got to the end of the year and the Big Small is reading not only words but even books, and some of them aren’t mind bogglingly boring, and don’t star Nan, Biff or Chip.

I’ve even caught her reading beautifully to her toys and the Small Small, and I have received some lovely notes telling me I am a booful mumy.

Amazing. 😉

  1. The social stuff is hard, fast.

Friendships are hard. Someone is always not someone else’s best friend, not coming to my party, being told on, or not playing nicely. Social power is learned quickly, and wielded ruthlessly.

When your kid comes home and tells you they had no one to play with at lunch time, it’s like a dagger through your heart.

And when they come home and tell you they told so-and-so they couldn’t play because they weren’t part of the ‘club’, it’s just as bad – if not worse.  

We’ve had many discussions about thinking how it would feel to be in someone else’s shoes, being kind, looking for kindness in others, and walking away when people are being mean.

I’ve had to face the fact that this is the first of many life lessons where despite my best efforts, the Big Small will have to figure it out for herself – and make some mistakes along the way. You can’t socially engineer or influence for them in the classroom or playground – these are hierarchies and nuances they will face and skills and strategies they will need for the rest of their lives.

And that really rather SUCKS.

As someone who is still too often trying to figure out how to fit in and be liked, watching this process begin so early has been surprisingly painful. It’s taken me right back to my own childhood in a series of rather uncomfortable 80s montage flashbacks. (It turns out very little has changed really, apart from the hair and the socks).

  1. Play dates have changed.

What has changed, is play dates. Pre-school, play dates meant meeting up with your Mummy mates and drinking tea while holding a disjointed conversation around phrases like “Share!”, “Maybe later, darling”, “We don’t hit, do we?”, “Take you hand out of your pants, please!”, “Do you need a wee?” and “Don’t eat that if it’s been on the floor.”

At school, the play date is an important part of your child’s social development, and the one way you CAN try and subtly shape your child’s friendships.

It is held after school, when everyone is at their giddiest, hungriest and tiredest. Yay.

Your child will never want to bring home a kid you know who’s parents you know, leaving you in sole charge of a completely strange child who doesn’t have to do what you say because you are powerless to take away their stuff.

Your child will inevitably be a little shit, refuse to share anything, and go off in a sulk.

So now all you have to do is to make sure your kid doesn’t sabotage their social standing/friendship, make sure the other kid has a good time, eats some food, and reports back on your wonderful parenting. Oh, and then make sure the house is presentable and you aren’t too weird and intense when the strange parent turns up to pick up the strange kid.

NO PRESSURE THEN.

(Btw, this will all be complicated by the Small Small wanting to do everything the Big ones are doing).

The good news is that invariably your little arse-wipe of a child actually behaves impeccably at other people’s houses – and it turns out everyone’s kid is a pain in the neck at their own play date. Phew.

My advice is to try and host as little as possible, and invite multiple kids if you can manage it to dilute each others company.

Also, wine.

  1. The school run gets easier.

When you started the year, the idea of getting all children up, cleaned, fed and out for double drop off WEARING THEIR SHOES, was rather daunting.

I won’t say I’ve got it down to a fine art, but we’re now almost never late. Almost. It’s really just about starting the process early enough (my kids appear to need a solid 40 minutes of faffy time before they can be persuaded to leave the house) and then just shouting “EAT!” and “SHOES!” every 2-3 minutes.

  1. School comms don’t get easier.

I’m a woman on the edge (as the name of this blog would suggest) who is oppressed by her existing text messages and emails, from people she genuinely likes, about stuff she’s genuinely interested in.

The massive barrage of random, fluctuating, and often spurious school information delivered across multiple channels several times a day has very nearly tipped me over that edge.

As the year has worn on, I’ve learned to care less (curiously the solution to many of my problems) and only open the stuff that looks really important (nothing from the PTA). I do also check the book bag once a week, though usually in a mad panic on the way out the door first thing on a Monday (between screaming “SHOES!” and “EAT!” obvs).

If it’s vital I’ve found that either child and network of school gate mums will let me know about it (having got to know me and how crap I am).

  1. They’re still babies.

Yes, my Big Small can read now (sort of – see 2). Yes, she has a whole life away from me that I never hear anything about (apart from snippets of friend drama – see 3). Yes, she’s learned some new and interesting words (and not all of them from me! See 2 again). And yes, she’s now wiping her own bum and brushing her own teeth (both still requiring some supervision).

But at the end of the day she still drinks warm milk, and she still wants a bedtime story, a cuddle and a song.

She’s still my baby. And as she continues to grow into her own person, I know she always will be.

 

Mumonthenetherege

xx

Glitter tits

04 Tuesday Jul 2017

Posted by in Breastfeeding, Humour, Motherhood

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So apparently this is a thing. According, at least, to The Sun (who just WOULD, wouldn’t they? Tits + Shiny.) http://bit.ly/2taH9YX

Several points (the first literally) – 

  1. Cold. And wouldn’t temperature fluctuations and the associated anatomical erections/reactions play havoc with the jewel glue? It’d have to be super-sticky to cope, and I can’t think of many worse places to rip off a plaster. That’s gonna smart.
  2. Gritty titty. Eeeeeew. Chafey.
  3. There likely isn’t enough glitter in the whole world to cover my boobs. And they’d jiggle around so much most of it would be dislodged. How embarrassing! (The rest would probably brush off on my knees as I was walking along).
  4. This cannot be good for the milk ducts! Breast feeding babies are also unlikely to approve. And then shit sparkles for weeks.
  5. This amount of glitter in one place for one occasion means you’ll be living in it FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL LIFE. It will be in your pants. Your nose. Your sandwiches. Your sofa. Your eyelashes. Your cat. Your office desk. Is it really worth it? For a bit of festival glam? I’m going no, but then I gave up being a crafty mum after about five whole minutes. Glitter is strictly for nursery, school, and Grandma’s house.
  6. Sequins are meant to be sewn together, into some sort of, I don’t know, TOP. I like this idea. Let’s do that! Cannot believe noone thought of this before.

If anyone can think of any pluses to this look, please let me know. I like to be down with the fashion-kids when I can (see previous post) so I’m ready to be persuaded!

 

Mumonthenetheredge