Category Archives: Motherhood

Contemplating my toes

25 Sunday Mar 2018

Posted by in Divorce, Love and sex, Motherhood

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On nights when I don’t have the kids, I get to have Me Time. I’m very out of practice at Me Time (about 6 years rusty – the age of a Big Small) and basically I suck at it.

Tonight I tried for Self Care 101, and decided to cut my toe nails. This was overdue.

And I realised I am still wearing the nail polish I was wearing the last time I had sex with my husband.

I don’t know whether this is a sign of how fast he moved on, how woefully neglected my grooming regime is, or just how toe-curlingly awful the toe-covering months have been.

Definitely though, it felt like a sign.

I think when I applied it that I thought I was ‘making an effort’. I didn’t know it was already too late.

And so I have spent a long time this evening doing nothing productive, staring at my toes.

And thinking.

I could of course break out the nail polish remover and scrub off every last vestige of chipped red.

I could pick out a new bright and shiny colour to replace it. Hot pink, perhaps. Maybe add a layer of glitter?

But I can’t quite bring myself to do it. And I don’t really know why.

I suppose the truth is that I’m not ready.

I don’t want my feet, or any other bit of me, to look attractive for anyone.

What I want is the reminder.

My new reality is still so painful and the future is so very unknown. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever have sex again. If l’ll ever want to. If anyone will ever want me. Want us. I don’t know where I’m going to live, where the Smalls will live, what school they will go to, what our lives will look like or who will still be in them. I don’t know much.

It’s like I still need an anchor, a connection with the past – which whatever else it lacked was at least consistent.

And it’s there, right at the end of my toes, in a thin smear of old scarlet.

So I’m leaving it. The last half centimetre of my old life. To grow slowly out, to be snipped off bit by bit over the next few weeks, in appropriately grotesque curls (why ARE nails so much more offensive when removed from the body?)

It’s not long left to wallow.

And when it is gone it will be nearly summer and surely everything will look better and sunnier.

And maybe then I will be ready for pink and sparkly.

(Or at the very least be forced by the prospect of sandals into better podiatry maintenance).

Mother’s Day

25 Sunday Mar 2018

Posted by in Divorce, Motherhood, Parenting

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I thought today was going to be okay. And then I went to the park, and saw all the families there. Mothers – with children – and with fathers.

Teams.

I was jealous.

Because this Mother’s Day I am not the Mum I wanted to be. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t create that family. We were never a team.

And as a result I am not the Mum that is there no matter what, for every crisis big or small, every achievement or every joy.

Sometimes I’m not there at all.

And the reality is that all too soon someone else will be. They will be the team at the park.

I’m told often I need to get over this. I need to move on. But I cannot describe the pain of it. Why couldn’t I have that? What’s wrong with ME?

The only consolation I can find is that in some ways, I’m actually more of the Mum I wanted to be now than I was before.

Because it turns out parenting on egg shells around someone else’s moods completely sucks. It changes you.

There is now no unhappy, brooding presence in the corner, on the phone, judging and criticising and refusing to join in.

I can wind the kids up before bedtime. Dance like a loony. Eat tea on the floor with the Barbies. Stay at the park for hours on end. Not sort the washing. Bugger the washing up. Cover the house in slime. Go to bed when the kids do. Tickle them in restaurants. Sing the three lines of Moana I know on repeat at the top of my voice. Instigate lick fights. Do the Mystery Inc voices in public. Be too intense, too loud, too soft, too rigid, too – whatever I like.

I just have to get beyond too damn sad, and too damn hurt.

And I’m afraid I still don’t quite know how that’s done.

The sexism of emotions

27 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in mental health, Motherhood, Parenting

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The most popular post I’ve ever written on this blog was about the #metoo movement.

It turns out people really, really want to talk about low level sexual discrimination, harassment and assault. In fact if you read the comments on the post, it’s very clear how quickly and smoothly those turn into medium level, and then extreme examples.

I cried reading about some of those experiences.

And as I cried, I realised that crying was kind of one of them… a subtle, everyday way women are undercut.

The last few months have been emotional ones for me, in many different ways. And while in theory I know having an emotional reaction to an emotive situation is both rational and consistent – there is a large part of me that believes it is not.

Because I have been conditioned to think that my emotions are untrue, disproportionate, and inconvenient.

I have stopped trusting them. And I have stopped trusting myself. Because if you can’t believe what you’re feeling, what can you believe? You have no foundations to stand on.

But slowly, as I pick myself up, I am beginning to realise that there is an innate sexism attached to emotions, and how they are perceived in society.

If a grown man loses his cool (without resorting to violence, obviously) he is being assertive, sticking to his line, drawing one in the sand, sending a clear message – not being a pushover. He is strong.

If a grown woman does the same she is being hysterical, volatile, erratic, she is over-sensitive and over-emotional. She is easily dismissed. She is weak; and she is wrong.

I imagine a lot of women out there could say, ‘me too’ to this. Because the refrains used to undermine the validity of our emotions are so familiar, and so ingrained. And the most frustrating thing of all is that if we rail against them, we are doomed to PROVE them in the most frustrating of catch 22s.

How many do you recognise?

“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re misinterpreting what I’m saying.”
“Is it that time of the month?”
“You need to bring it down a notch.”
“You’re being really intense.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“What are you crying for?”
“Psycho.”
“I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. “
“You need to calm down.”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Our emotions are unreliable.

And we are told so in no uncertain terms from a very young age.

Robert Webb has written of the damage caused to boys by being told not to emote. But there is similar damage caused to girls too, by being told they OVER emote.

Hysteria is the term historically used to dismiss female emotion – their wombs making them less. Less rational, less reasonable, less able to cope. Less everything.

The fact is that as women, to gain respect we are expected to make things easy for everyone – not to make a fuss. It is part and parcel of the same insidious secrecy and silence that is unravelling in the public eye in #metoo and #timesup.

Because our reaction to a situation – no matter what the provocation, mistreatment or injustice – is STILL always somehow greater than the original crime.

It is the woman scratching her keys down her husband’s car who is more frowned upon – the psycho – than the man having the affair.

It is the woman speaking out against assault – and daring to do so with emotion – who is unstable, and untrustworthy. Not the man she is accusing – not unless many hundreds more join her chorus.

The only recourse deemed suitable by society in these situations seems to be silent dignity. Because showing anything else makes women more guilty and more wrong.

But silent dignity is still silenced.

It still denies us a voice.

I have undoubtedly been more emotional since I had children. And I have assumed – and been told – it is a weakness.

What if that’s a lie though?

What if we’ve ALL been lied to?

What if emotion is a strength?

Emotional intelligence is not about NOT showing emotion or pretending not to feel it. It’s not about sucking it up, bottling it up, or denying it.

We certainly should not be at the mercy of our feelings. Not everything you feel should be immediately acted upon – that’s the ultimate key to emotional intelligence.

But it IS about feeling your feelings, recognising them, accepting them, appreciating the purity and truth of those instincts. Letting them pass through you and coming out the other side.

Because by going through them authentically, you will be a truer you, and you will make BETTER decisions.

And maybe that skill – because it is a skill – makes you a better person, a better employee, a better spouse, a better friend, and most certainly a better parent.

Because how will our children ever learn to process their emotions, connect with them, recognise them in others, and ultimately trust themselves, if we don’t show them how to do so?

My feelings, my empathy, my heart, my tears, my sense of justice, my poetry, my LOVE – they are the best bits of me. Not the worst.

And I will no longer be afraid of them.

Finding love in the little things

11 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by in Divorce, Love and sex, Motherhood, Parenting

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A year ago, I wrote an alternative love letter to Dad-then-on-the-nether-edge.

In summary, I told him I loved him more than a soiled Bristol loo.

Ok, it did go somewhat deeper that that, and was rather more romantic (I thought) than the loo thing implies! Here it is.

Basically, it was a blog about being with someone for a really long time, and wearing grooves into each other’s souls.

It was a blog about the sheer and unrelenting monotony and exhaustion of life with small children.

It was a blog about the hidden beauty and love in all of that – in knowing someone so well, and in the awful/awesome details of family life.

It was also about not taking all of that for granted.

The verdict from Dad-now-off-the-netheredge was that it was a ‘bit depressing, actually.’

At the time his response hurt, but it did not open my eyes to how differently we viewed things.

In hindsight, I don’t think I wanted to see.

The truth is, where I saw beauty, he just –
didn’t.

He wasn’t looking anymore.

Or maybe he never saw it at all.

Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was blocking or spoiling his view.

It really doesn’t matter, anymore, does it?

I thought I was investing – in small, everyday deposits – into our life together. I was banking those beautiful details like they were precious. He had already checked out of the account.

It is always hard to be the person who falls out of love last. It is always hard to see the other person move on SO swiftly. It is always hard to be the last to know.

This Valentine’s Day, I am on my own. I imagine I will be on my own for a long time.

But I still believe, so strongly, that beauty and love IS in the little things, the ordinary things, even the mundane things.

One of my favourite poets put it better than I ever could – ‘Glory be to God for dappled things.’

Because speckled sunshine through the leaves, a baby’s belly laugh, a family game, the sweep of lashes on a cheek, the mutual comfort of the post-bedtime slump on the sofa – they can add up to something greater than the sum of their parts.

You just have to agree what the little things are – for you and your Valentine and your family.

And then you just have to keep looking for them.

And while that isn’t always easy, even from my new vantage point in spurned ex-wife world – I still believe it is always worth it.

So to old lovers – and new ones – Happy Valentine’s Day.

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

 

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

 

What would I do?

04 Tuesday Jul 2017

Posted by in mental health, Motherhood, Parenting, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

What would I do, if that were you –
trapped in a tower, devoured by fire?
If my choices were to pick your death – to choke on smoke or drop – and hope you land,
whole.

What would I do, if that were you,
and I had to let go of your hand?
Your soul –
leaving mine behind, aching in hope, shaking in hopelessness.

What would I do, if that were you,
running from men, with evil intent?
If I had to keep you quiet, pleading, needing, lying that it’s a game, that I can keep you –
safe.

What would I do, if that were you,
listening in the dark for footsteps, waiting for violence,
your face –
staring back in final bloody silence, ebbing away, holding my gaze in betrayal.

What would I do, if that were you,
with drips and drains stuck in your veins?
If I had to watch your body dim you, eat you alive, while I had to survive?
Continue.

What would I do, if that were you,
and I could never, bring you,
back?
Your lack a black hole in my heart consuming everything that ever was.

What would I do, if that were you,
in the coach, on the ride, caught by the tide?
If I lost you to your life, on a trip, and you slip from my grasp in a gasp –
Gone.

What would I do, if that were you,
if it were me getting the call, screaming
they’re wrong?
Not you. Because I would have felt you leave me, heard your goodbye.

What would I do, if that were you,
in a place ripped by war, gore, and more your eyes shouldn’t see?
If I had to pick between a bomb,
or boat.

What would I do, if that were you,
at the mercy of waves and greed and cold and fate –
Afloat.
Face down and drifting out of reach – out of sight – to an indifferent beach where I will never find you.

What would I do, if that were me,
living between breaths, at the top of my lungs
scared to breath deep, to sleep, to wake, to make a mistake, to choose, to lose you –
Living in the freezing seizing no-man’s-land of ‘what if’
a looping gif I can’t escape,
that shapes my days and nights –
And yours.

The open jaws of panic, of doom, loom over me and block your light.
And in the dark I walk a tight-rope, sinew from my heart, re-started each day, pounding your name inside my chest,
stretched, round my neck like a noose.

Terror runs loose, and it rules supreme, its soundtrack a scream in waiting.
What would I do, if that were me,
and I could not see
an end,
But every, gritty, grating, end in between?

What would I do?

Glitter tits

04 Tuesday Jul 2017

Posted by in Breastfeeding, Humour, Motherhood

≈ Leave a comment

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