Parenting Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

How to date night as a parent.

Anna — Mon, 18 Jun 2018 13:24:32 +0000

Date night circa 2008 used to be my favourite night. Rory and I would meet after work, head for a few drinks and maybe watch a film or have a meal. Oh those carefree days! Now that we are parents, date night is centred around the TV in our living room rather than two for one cocktails in town. It’s a very different ball game so I’ve created a five point guide to Date Night as parents. 1 – Put the children to bed This is the easy bit right? The children are usually in their pyjamas, stories read and in their rooms by 7.15pm. Perfect. Unfortunately, lately they’ve not been going to sleep but at least they can entertain themselves for a while… We head downstairs where I remove all the small trucks boobytrapping the place and Rory gets the ironing board out. Let’s get this Date Night started! 2 – Choose and order food We have an unwritten rule in our house that whoever is ironing wins control of the TV so Rory puts some football on for a while – coincidence? We get the abundance of takeaway menus out to see what fare is on offer. Rory’s attention is largely focused on the football. I keep ruining it by commenting on things like the colours of the football outfits and how much greener the grass looks on TV – in moments like this he appreciates that technology allows him to rewind live TV. I pour a drink while we decide. By about 8.30 we have made a choice and called the relevant establishment to place an order. It has taken us THAT long. 3 – Choose a film This is where we start to fall apart. Rory will put away the ironing and start doing exercises. God forbid he just sit or something. I pour another drink. We decide to see what our subscribed service provider has to offer. When it comes to films we have rather different tastes. Rory likes those mindless action films with Vin Diesel, car chases and big explosions which look super impressive in HD on a larger screen. I much prefer something a little more ‘highbrow’, something with a story-line and subtitles. Or something completely trashy with beautiful people. Combine this lack of agreement, with constantly running up and downstairs to see what the current child emergency is (not a lost limb as often indicated by the screaming) and the complete lack of usability of the aforementioned service provider it takes an age to trawl through categories including Actors with shoes and Too artsy for it’s own good 4 – Collect food and choose a film some more 30 minutes has passed, we’re no closer to finding a film so Rory goes to collect the food leaving me with strict instruction to find a film and have it ready to go upon his return. After a quick check of Facebook and Twitter, to see what’s occurring in the world, I reply to some messages. I tell the children that everything in the world will be cancelled if they don’t sleep. Rory returns, food in hand and I tell him I just couldn’t find anything to watch. 5 – Admit defeat It’s gone 9pm, far too late to put a film on – it’s almost bedtime for crying out loud! The children are still shouting us for emergencies including, but not limited to, I need my covers putting on and Someone is making a noise outside. We eat and decide we’ll watch a TV series we recorded about 6 months ago and maybe try again tomorrow… And THAT’S how we keep the romance alive in this house! There MAY be better advice out there…highly unlikely but maybe.

The post How to date night as a parent. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

Sorry seems to be the hardest word – or not.

Anna — Fri, 23 Feb 2018 11:45:48 +0000

Sorry – Feeling regret or penitence. Sorry. It’s a funny word isn’t it? Five little letters that some folk find harder to say than Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Others say it far to often, so much so that it quickly loses all meaning. Seth falls into the latter category. He must say sorry about 100 times a day. I have no problem with him apologising but he just doesn’t have a clue what it means. He will bump his head. “Sorry” “No, you don’t need to apologise for bumping your head”. Someone will get hurt accidentally or growled at. “Sorry” “That’s OK, it was an accident. Thank you for apologising” He’ll enter a room looking sheepish after drawing on the floor. “Sorry” “What have you done?” “But sorry” “Why are you sorry though?” “I SAID I’M SORRY” “OK, please tell me what you did!” Standing in front of the TV about to hit it with his hammer “Sorry” *Hammers the screen* “No, that’s not an acceptable sorry. A preemptive apology doesn’t give you permission to go ahead and hammer the TV” He will be screaming/having a tantrum/throwing things. “Sorry” “So stop doing that” *Continues with generally crappy behaviour* “But I said sorry” “I know but you’re still doing it so you’re not sorry” We try to explain what sorry means but he just doesn’t get it and if we don’t accept his apology then, well, things get ‘tense’. “BUT I SAID SORRY!” “IF. YOU. WERE. SORRY. YOU. WOULDN’T. STILL. BE. DOING. IT!” “SORRY THOUGH, SORRY, SORRY, SORRY” “Oh ffs. OK, you’re sorry!” I know that’s not the ideal way to deal with it but it really isn’t worth having a three year old right up in my face screaming sorry until I forgive him. So, how do we deal with this? How do you get a small human to say sorry, understand what it means and actually mean it? Am I raising a sociopath? Should I just abandon all hope? An interesting note here As I was typing this post Seth stood in front of me, looked me dead in the eye and stood on my foot. “Sorry, that was an accident” He said at exactly the moment his foot pressed down on mine. Ummm no son, I don’t believe it was!

The post Sorry seems to be the hardest word – or not. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

If you can’t be kind, be offline.

Anna — Wed, 17 Jan 2018 18:21:09 +0000

As a blogger I spend a lot of time in the internet, most specifically social media. A lot of time is spent moving in the same virtual circles as other bloggers. I’m aware that it’s a very curious world I frequent. One where I’ve debated with strangers in 140 characters or less. Where opportunities have been found. A strange world where I’ve made ‘friends’ with people I’ve never met. These are people I have happened across for a variety of reasons. Some because we have a similar sense of humour. Others because we have similar interests but most because we share a love of writing and put a lot of time and effort into getting our stuff out there. The thing with the internet is that, in order to not go crazy, you must take someone at face value. You must assume they are as decent as they would lead you to believe. I’ve actually been really lucky in that some of the ‘friends’ I’ve met online, I’ve met in the real world and they are still that great people who I am pleased to call friends. Alas, I’ve also encountered a fair few twats along the way. There are those who are snide, they will tweet you and tell you how great you are whilst simultaneously messaging someone else to point out what an idiot you are. Then there are those who thrive on calling people out, belittling and humiliating people. They attempt to be constantly controversial and getting swept up in stuff (that frankly is none of their business) for clicks, likes and popularity. “But Anna” I hear you cry “this goes on in all walks of life. It is not blogger specific”. You are indeed right dear reader. It does go on all over life BUT when you consider that my blog ‘niche’ is parenting and most of those loitering in my virtual circles are parents. Well, it makes me a bit sad. Some of us blog as a hobby, others of us blog as our job. We live in a hope that we can work from home and make enough money to look after our families. At a time when we should be supporting one another as parents, patting each other on the back and celebrating each others achievements there seems to be more interest in dragging one another down and putting people in their place. Trying, essentially, to ruin the joy someone takes in writing or, indeed, their income. When did this become OK? If we as ‘professional’ adults, with heads full of knowledge and common sense are hiding behind keyboards ‘telling it as it is’, ‘putting it out there’ and ‘setting people straight’, seemingly out of jealousy, what hope is there for our children? WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN! We are bringing up our children in a very different world to the one we grew up in. A world where the internet rules. It’s a world were people don’t bother letting facts get in the way of the chance to wield their virtual pitchforks and start baying at strangers because, well, everyone else is. The internet is an astounding invention, a world of information is now at our fingertips yet it has resulted in a backward step for people socially. People give in to peer pressure more than they would in real life, people congregate in mobs because they don’t want to feel the wrath of the next rant. It’s very much like school, be friends with the bully so you’re not the bullied. At least, when we were younger we were largely untouchable if we were within our own four walls. Home was a safe place. Generally speaking, no matter how awful things were at school or even work, it couldn’t get to you at home. Now, the internet ensures that even in a safe home environment, kids can still be subject to other kids ‘telling it how it is’. Last week I discovered, via the child of a friend, that there are even websites to “help you in discovering your strengths and areas for improvement by receiving honest feedback from your employees and your friends in a private manner” Or in that particular situation… Enable children to tell other children that everybody hates them and they should kill themselves. Seriously. We have all read about how things like this are going on more and more amongst children via social media. We shake our heads in despair and ask why children think they have the right to be so cruel online. Why do they think they can get away with hiding behind a keyboard saying mean things about others. Bullying is bullying after all! Then we quickly compose a tweet announcing how ridiculous that woman from that show is for calling her baby Zeus. Obviously we tag her in the tweet so she knows our unwanted opinion, heck maybe we’ll start a hashtag too. Whilst we might not be online issuing death threats to others, we are online #justsaying and making snide remarks. We are back stabbing and belittling others. We are occasionally being bloody awful. Then we question why children are treating one another in exactly that same way online. If we display this behaviour online, we can’t be surprised when our Little Angel starts rallying the masses to pick on Jonas because he doesn’t like football or something. We need to teach our children that just because we can’t see someone, it doesn’t mean our words won’t hurt them. They need to know that creating a mob, spreading gossip and name calling can have an effect not only on the stranger you’ve decided you don’t like, but at times their family and friends too. Ultimately we can’t expect our children to be decent online citizens if we don’t lead by example.

The post If you can’t be kind, be offline. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

Weekly Winedown #28 Beefsteak Club Malbec

Anna — Fri, 15 Dec 2017 19:18:41 +0000

Welcome to the Weekly Winedown. Each week I selflessly drink wine for you and offer a review. Please don’t expect anything professional, I consume a lot of wine but I’m no pro. The only real ‘rule’ I’m putting in place is that the wine is to be under £8 a bottle. #keepitclassy. Dear reader, I need a break. A break from everything. Not death – nothing that permanent. Just a day or so to breathe. A day where I don’t have to be at a certain place by a certain time. Where I don’t have to remember to feed a small person regularly (three times a day – what’s that about?). Just 24 hours without someone trying to pull up my dress, get in my pockets or honk my boob. Time without children sitting as on top of me as anyone could possibly sit. I’d like a day with pockets of silence, to be able to walk without being dragged in two different directions. To be able to start and finish a task without constant interruptions and forgetting what I was doing in the first place. I imagine sitting without being kicked in the face or shouted at for TV scheduling. A whole night of sleep. To dream the impossible dream! Instead I have Beefsteak Club Malbec, an Argentinian red on offer at £6.49. The Label Red, white and black. We all know I love that. The text looks like it’s been stamped on with wooden blocks and there is a picture of a bull. There’s also a little tale about the beginnings of the Beefsteak Club. It was established in 1705 don’t you know? Well you do now. As labels go, this is unoffensive. The Blurb “A bright, fresh Malbec made from high altitude grapes of Mendoza. Vibrant aromas of crunchy red fruits and plum with a lightly spice finished. Well balanced and smooth with soft tannins to perfectly complement a juicy steak.” WTF is a crunchy red fruit? I have wracked my brain (granted there’s not a lot to wrack) and I’ll be damned if I can think of a crunchy fruit. Do you know of any? I can’t get away from the idea of that weird freeze dried fruit you get in cereal. Interesting. The nose (oh yes) is nice, like rich dark chocolate. The really dark stuff that you can only have one piece of. It was a fruitier palate, than I expected but a decent depth of flavour too. The finish was kind of licorice/oaky/woody. Lightly spiced and quite pleasant. This Malbec is a good all rounder and I can imagine is DOES go well with steak. I have no steak. Tonight Rory is out so I am having my Christmas ‘Do’. As a SAHM, my Christmas do is me drinking wine at home, alone, watching Elf. Actually not entirely alone. It’s a synchronised Elf watch. I am so hardcore. At least my wine is good. Name – Beefsteak Club Malbec. Price – £6.49 Colour – Rich red Smell – Subtle chocolatey Taste – Fruity with a woody finish Goes well with – Steak, apparently Overall score – 3.5/5

The post Weekly Winedown #28 Beefsteak Club Malbec appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

To celebrate a birthday, a birth story – of sorts.

Anna — Fri, 08 Dec 2017 20:04:44 +0000

Eight years ago we were young and free. We visited the German Market, drank a lot of wheat beer and decided we were ready to have a baby. A year on and a week overdue I wasn’t so sure! My contractions became regular on the Monday. My parents arrived, the hamster died (good job really, her cage was in the baby’s room) and I made us all toad in the hole. It took a while, I had to stop every ten minutes or so to grab the worktop and swear a bit. I tried to sleep, virtually impossible when your uterus feels like it’s being clamped. We called the hospital and went down. Apparently, I wasn’t in nearly enough pain to be birthing so we left again. “Go home, take some paracetamol and wait” Mighty paracetamol! If was as wonderful as they imply it would cost a damn sight more than 29p a pack! We headed home, via McDonalds. If I wasn’t in labour enough to be admitted then I was going to have breakfast. I sat in the car contracting while Rory ran in to get me a sausage and egg McMuffin and a coffee. Priorities. At some point that afternoon we went back to the hospital. I headed to the holding pen, where they keep all the moaning, groaning but ‘not quite there yet’ mums-to-be. Shit was getting real. Mum went home for a bit. Soon enough I was in the right amount of labour. We moved to a nice room on the business ward, it was en suite. I could hear women screaming like banshees “If I sound like that you better tell me” I had some pethidine, that was fun. It didn’t just stop the pain, it stopped the contractions. Not the best when trying to get a baby out. Mum and Rory were dozing in chairs. I was whacked off my tits, bouncing on a birthing ball like a mad woman. Chatting the head off the midwife and dissing my sleepy birth buddies. The contractions were back on track. I was thirsty. Only Dr pepper and milk would do! Not together obviously. I swiftly lost the ability to keep anything down. I vommed, a lot. Rory went home to get changed and showered. See how I’m the only one who’s not been home yet. I could have done with a rest. After this it all becomes a bit of a blur. I was dehydrated and uncomfortable. They kept prodding at me. My dignity and patience had long left by the third midwife and I was pretty rude to her. Somehow I ended up in a medical room. I was on gas and air. I had a catheter, a drip and some stuff to induce more labour maybe? I don’t think I even felt the contractions by then. I was so dehydrated I was making little sense. Less than usual. I was babbling on about all sorts of random crap – standard. At one point I gave everyone my personal review of Wall Street 2, a film I still haven’t seen to this day. I told them I needed to go for a wee. They told me I didn’t – I had a catheter in. I insisted and dragged my huge, contracting self and a pole with all the different bags on to the toilet. I squeezed myself and all my paraphernalia into the small toilet to discover they were indeed right. I didn’t need to wee. People had concerned faces on. It felt like there was a lot of hushed talking. I may have just lost the ability to listen properly. At one point a group of people came to look at me. I have a vague recollection of asking if it was a school trip with all the people coming to gawp at me and my vajayjay. I’d had enough. I was tired and I didn’t want to do it any more. Like when you’ve done one shot too many and you want to miss out the whole taxi ride bit and just be home and in bed. They thrust a yellow sheet at me, telling me I needed to sign it. I couldn’t even see straight, never mind read. I was asking Rory if it was OK to sign it. I suspected they were anticipating my death. They wheeled me to theatre. Oh yes they did! On the count of three they were going to lift me onto another bed. I was mortified “Can’t I just scootch over myself? I’m really heavy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I really don’t mind moving myself. I can totally do it.” They lifted me, I felt bad for them. They gave me a spinal block. They were going to remove baby with forceps. Baby was tired (I knew that feeling) and the head was turned so it was stuck maybe. I looked and saw these two great slabs of meat near my arms. “What the hell is that? Is that my leg? IS THAT MY OTHER LEG? WHAT ARE THEY DOING UP THERE?” I looked down to see three people looking busy. Like the witches in Macbeth. They told me I was going to need to push. I couldn’t feel anything from the chest down, I wasn’t going to be able to push. They said I had to. “I’ll try but I’ll just be pretending” I made the face and noises like they do on the TV – it worked. Cherish by Madonna was playing, they told me baby was here. I think they took it straight away. It needed putting in a towel. There was silence. Just Madonna. Then the crying started. First baby, then me. They gave it to me. “What is it?” “A girl” “Are you sure?!?” I looked at her, my first born. The little girl who made me a mum. She was perfect and still is. This may not be entirely how it happened, I was away with the fairies!

The post To celebrate a birthday, a birth story – of sorts. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

Running Free! – Leeds Mini run 2017

Anna — Mon, 10 Jul 2017 05:00:40 +0000

Before I start I just want to say, this is totally going to be a ‘proud mum’ post. I tend to veer toward the more ‘challenging’ side of parenting when I write, that’s simply because that’s where the funny stuff is. Aoife reading Dostoyevsky at 6 isn’t funny. It’s just super impressive. She doesn’t really read him. Yet. So yes, here’s a proud mum moment and I’m not sorry. This weekend Aoife and her cousins ran the Leeds mini Run for All. They ran it for Ickle Pickles, an organisation who, using donations, provide ventilators, incubators and specialist equipment for babies born needing intensive care and they raised £150. This alone makes me proud but that wasn’t my proud mum moment. This isn’t the first ‘official’ run Aoife has done. She did the mini run last year too. She’s not quite at Forest Gump levels but Aoife loves to run. Rory is a keen runner and, as a daddy’s girl, she aims to emulate him. She enjoys cross country at school, they do Parkrun together and they go on ‘training’ runs. The nicest thing about it is that Aoife doesn’t do this because she’s trying to impress Rory, she’s doing it because she loves it. It’s just a happy perk that it’s something they can do together. However, a few months ago Aoife went right off running. For a while we weren’t sure why then she told us that some of the kids at school make fun of the way she runs. So naturally, and unfortunately, she became self conscious. Pair this with “Some of the girls at school laugh at me because the top of my legs wobble” and I actually got a bit worried. She didn’t want to run because her friends took the piss. She was worried about the tops of her legs wobbling. She is 6 for crying out loud! This isn’t the shit she should be worrying about! To be honest, at 6 years old, it’s really quite unnerving that some of the girls find the concept of a wobbly thigh as an anomaly! Aoife is tall and she has these Bambi like legs that maybe don’t run quite conventionally but they are strong and athletic. Those ‘wobbly’ legs (or ‘thighs’ as their known in real life) get her a 6 minute kilometre when she runs. That might not seem much but think about every adult friend you have who’s going to do a 10k run and hopes to do it in an hour. That’s Aoife’s time. That’s better than I could do. But the best thing about Aoife’s run is that although some might see it as odd (I don’t see it myself) she runs with joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. Her running gait is an extension of her personality, it’s full of bounce and fun. Hell, her walk isn’t even conventional. She kind of skips everywhere. She’s a blonde bundle of joy, going everywhere with a skip in her step. After a couple of weeks she started getting back into running. She had taken what people said, it bothered her for a while but then she decided she wasn’t going to let what other people say ruin her fun. They can do their ‘normal’ running and worrying about wobbles while she just gets on, has fun and gets a medal. And THAT is why I had such a proud mum moment this weekend. On Sunday Rory did the 10k Run for All. Aoife and I went to cheer him on. We stood at the finish line and cheered the British record being broken by the female wheelchair racer Jade Jones. We cheered the first woman coming in, in a phenomenal time. We cheered Rory doing brilliantly and we talked about how one day she would be doing that run with her dad. I am proud that Aoife has decided she’s actually quite comfortable with herself and doesn’t give a shit about what the other kids say. She’s going to carrying on doing what she loves to do in the way she loves to do it and she’s not going to let anyone drag her down. She’s 6 years old, showing a strong and determined side with a skip of joy. I could really do with learning a bit from her.

The post Running Free! – Leeds Mini run 2017 appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

8 signs you’re not a first time parent.

Anna — Mon, 22 May 2017 05:00:22 +0000

Recently a few of my friends have birthed babies. Some for the first time and some for the second. Watching them both has made me realised how much we do it differently the second time around. Let’s start at the start The Hospital Bag Baby 1 – the hospital bag is prepared about 2 months before the due date and it contains, amongst other things: Various copies of your birth plan so everyone knows what will happen and when. Healthy snacks to keep your energy up. Books and playing cards for some light reading and games while you coast through labour. A variety of outfits for baby, you don’t know what they’ll suit yet. A variety of outfits for you including big pants and nursing bras. Toiletries and make up so you’ll look your best when you leave. Baby 2 – the hospital bag is prepared about 2 days before the due date and it contains, amongst other things: Three creme eggs Phone charger Nightie Shower gel and shampoo. Babygro, vest and cardigan (this was left in the car and we had to buy new as B2 arrived quicker than expected) The First Night Baby 1 – With Aoife I just wanted to look at her in awe all night. I wanted to take in every last detail of her tiny little face and hands and watch while she slept peacefully. It didn’t matter that I’d been awake for 48 hours, I was smitten. Baby 2 – With Seth I wanted to sleep hard. I was away from the toddler and the boyfriend with a room to myself for one whole night. I KNEW this would be the best Seth would sleep for the next year, I was looking forward to a massive sleep. WHY DID THEY WAKE ME EVERY THREE HOURS?? (I know I had to feed him but still, it was harsh!) Baby ‘Things’ Baby 1 – Obviously being the first Aoife got pretty much everything new. Bedroom furniture, gender neutral clothes. We were given LOTS of lovely clothes by others too. We also invested in lots of ‘must haves’, baby monitors, nappy bin (pointless), wrap around carrier (couldn’t get away with it), anti colic teats (didn’t work), brand new sensory toys and wonderful lighty, noisy things like that. Baby 2 – The furniture was still OK so he got that. All the gender neutral clothes were OK so he got them. We chose to put the nappies in the actual bin, he had the second hand Mothercare carrier and a massive supply of gripe water and Infacol. Seth was largely a second hand baby, he played with pink toys a lot and dressed as Dorothy from Wizard of OZ and you know what? It didn’t matter to him. He loved it. It proved how much money we’d wasted buying loads of crap for Aoife. Baby Handling Baby 1 – Your newborn is held so delicately, like a Ming vase. Every nappy and outfit change takes an age in case an arm or leg should drop off your brand new bundle of precious. When baby naps you talk in hushed voices. You wouldn’t want to disturb her after all. Baby 2 – Nappies and outfits are changed at a speed that a Formula 1 pit crew would be jealous of. Baby is oft’ under an arm in a rugby ball fashion in order to get shit done. When baby sleeps there is no whispering and low tones. It’s chaos as usual. Baby 2 would sleep through a stampede of elephants. Feeding (not including initial breast or bottle as that’s NOT IMPORTANT) Baby 1 – Baby led weaning FTW. You make sugar and salt free meals for the family. You make scones and ‘healthy’ biscuits as per whomever wrote the latest book. Snack are grapes and blueberries, She sees these as a treat and she only drinks water. Baby 2– Baby led weaning book is repurchased and never opened. He is weaned on chicken nuggets and fish fingers (100% cod of course). He drinks squash like it’s going out of style and he says “chocolate” clearer than any other word. Any fruit, aside apples, are met with a big, fat “YUK”. Photographs Baby 1 – You take about 100 photos a day AND GET THEM PRINTED. They’re all in a box under your bed. Baby 2 – You take about 50 photos a day, on a good day. You’ve Instagrammed a few but you should really print some as there’ll be some awkward “where was I?” questions before long. Groups Baby 1 – You attend a variety, you need to meet ‘like minded people’ and baby needs friends. It’s VITAL for baby’s social development that she sing “The wheels on the bus” three times a week Baby 2 – You give them a miss. You don’t want to be the oldest mum there having all those young mums judging you and playing ‘my baby can’ besides, you’ve got PLENTY of friends thankyouverymuch and he meets his buddies for coffee and croissant (almond) at least once a week. TV Baby 1 – Has limited TV time, you let her have an hour a day of Cbeebies and that’s it. You don’t want to corrupt her tiny mind with silly words and songs. You’ll read a lot instead. Baby 2 – Watches TV all day long. You’re pretty sure those ‘silly words’ are the ‘alien words’ they talk about in phonics. Besides, his speech is coming along fantastically, he knows all the words to Despicable Me 1 & 2, The Minions AND Wreck it Ralph. He probably doesn’t need to know all the other words….. I’m sure I’ve missed LOADS of difference between bringing up baby 1 & 2. What are yours? If you like what you read, please consider nominating me for BiBs Fresh voice

The post 8 signs you’re not a first time parent. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

I was like you once….

Anna — Mon, 01 May 2017 05:00:23 +0000

As I wrestle my toddler into a trolley and yell “come over here NOW” at my daughter I glance up and I see that look on your face, a mixture of pity and disdain. I know how you see me. A fraught, overweight, middle aged woman who’s let herself go and could probably dress herself better*. I know how you see me because I was like you once. OK, I was never THAT slim. Or beautiful. But I was like you, looking over at the harassed, yelling like a fishwife mother thinking something like “poor thing, clearly can’t cope, getting wound up over nothing”. What you’re seeing, this over reaction on my part, is merely a snapshot into our lives, as fleeting as that look on your face. You didn’t see the tantrum because I turned Bob the Train off. You didn’t see me kicked in the throat because I wanted to change a nappy. You didn’t see me spend 20 minutes trying to shoe a toddler and leave the house. You didn’t see me tripped over by an over enthusiastic foot. You didn’t see begging, pleading and attempting to carry my boy as he refused to walk. You didn’t see him lay down in mud. You didn’t see me panic as I was going to be late to pick up my daughter. You didn’t see me frantically calling other mums in case I didn’t make it in time. You didn’t see me get an earful for taking the wrong snack. Rather – you saw me lose my shit over something and nothing. You assessed us, ME, on that and gave me that look. I was like you once – I get it, I really do but I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you to look at me and feel bad. That fleeting look on your face stings for a second then I remind myself You don’t see the hugs. You don’t see the laughter. You don’t see the games we play and the songs we sing. You don’t see the snuggles on the couch. You don’t see the picture she made me. You don’t see him say ‘I love you Mummy’. You don’t see the all encompassing love in our lives. You only see a snapshot. I was like you once. But one day, if you’re REALLY lucky, you’ll be like me. You’ll choose comfort over style because why waste good shoes on the school run? You’ll do your hair and face every day to show you’re coping. You’ll get exasperated at how much longer everything takes with children. You’ll get sick of hearing your own voice repeat the same warning time and time again. You’ll pick up your child when they land face first after ignoring your repeated warnings. You’ll feel what seems like a thousand eyes on you when your child refuses to walk or has a tantrum. You’ll drink wine on a regular basis because you deserve a reward for surviving the day. You’ll lose your shit in public over the tiniest thing because you kept your shit over the 20 other misdemeanors and you’ll glance and you’ll see that fleeting look on some sprightly teens face and you’ll think to yourself “I was like you once, but I’m glad I’m like me now”. *FYI I’m not middle aged yet and I didn’t let myself go, I’ve always been rough as a bag of spanners thankyouverymuch 😉

The post I was like you once…. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

The School Run.

Anna — Mon, 03 Apr 2017 05:00:56 +0000

My current ‘challenge’ is the school run. Let us start at the start. Seth, is nearly three, Aoife is six. She goes to school every day, as is required. Last Wednesday, on the way to school, Seth decided he’d have a lay down. This isn’t something new, he likes a little lay for a moment and then we carry on. Except on Wednesday he was up for a big lay. A lay and a play with his train. I finally coaxed him into standing up and walking, he did so for a few steps then he had another lay. He walked a few more steps and then had another lay. This time in a fresh bird shit, it’s amazing how it spreads – especially on the day you forgot wetwipes. We made it to school, slightly late but we were there. On the way home he walked fine. Later that day I announced it was time to get Aoife. “No thanks” he said “We don’t really have a choice” said I. This back and forth went on a while and we agreed he could go dressed as Buzz Lightyear. WIN. Or not. We got to the end of our street and he was telling me “no thanks”. We got to the main road, I was aware we were behind time. In true sods law fashion the traffic was ridiculously busy, there was finally a break so we stepped out and… “UH OH” “What?” I looked down and he’d taken his boot and sock off. Right there at the side of the road. “You’re fucking kidding me” I muttered and redressed his foot. We finally crossed the road and made it to the point where he’d had his first lay that morning. A little glimmer of memory flashed in his eyes and he lay down. I sometimes truly believe I live in a Truman Show type world where every thing is set up to get a reaction. Today’s show was clearly entitled ‘Let’s See How Much She Can Take Before She Breaks’. “Seriously Seth, you’re going to do this again? C’mon we’re LATE” “No thanks” I tried reasoning, bribery, racing. Nothing was shifting him. People were looking and that heat was building up inside. You know the one, it only occurs in parents. The heat starts building up, you become a little panicked as there will be consequences to this, you can’t fix it and you can’t fathom a way out. You’re failing AND PEOPLE ARE LOOKING. Luckily at this point, two lovely mums turned up and talked to me like everything was normal. Like I didn’t have Buzz Lightyear on reins, laying there. They pretended it wasn’t happening and I love them for that. It was the most fantastic thing to happen that day. Seth then decided he’d crawl the rest of the way to school. Even though he’s two, he’s a big chap. There I was walking down the road holding the reins of a crawling Buzz Lightyear trying to look like I gave zerofucks when I was actually dying a little inside. I heard comments likening him to a man dressed like a snail and a dog. I resisted the urge to dropkick the person and carried on like it was fine. I picked Aoife up from school and went home. Slowly. Now, as my boy is a creature of habit, this scenario has played out EVERY DAY since then. On Friday his refusal to leave the house even was such that I had to panic ring other parents to see if anyone could take Aoife to school. They couldn’t. I cried. Over the last few days I’ve had to carry him, drag him, beg him, he doesn’t do reasoning and he won’t move. I’m expecting Social Services at the door because to an outsider it must look like I’m mistreating him. Today it took 45 mins to do the 10 minute walk home from school. I had to carry him most of the way. It’s uphill, he’s 2 1/2 stone and I have a bad hip. I got home and cried. Again. It’s embarrassing and infuriating and I can’t see a way to get him to move. If one more person laughs I will not be responsible for my actions! And tomorrow I probably get to do it all again. The worst thing about this whole forlorn scenario is that the picture of him looks so bloody cute! EDIT Here’s an update to this sorry saga. Seth is still refusing to walk home from school for no other reason than “No thanks”. We’ve sat at the side of the road, I’ve tried to lift him but he drags his legs. He’s bent himself backwards and banged his head. He’s tried to crawl under a removal van. He’s collapsed himself in the middle of the road. As you read this we are on our way to France for a holiday. Please be safe in the knowledge that RIGHT NOW we are probably in Nice International airport lugging three cases and two children amidst thousands of travellers whilst Seth flops about on the floor saying “no thanks” and scary armed soldiers watch us wondering WTF is going on.

The post The School Run. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..

I’ll be there for you.

Anna — Mon, 27 Mar 2017 05:00:15 +0000

This week I saw a lovely little competition running on a Facebook page. The rule of the competition was to tag the mums who “no matter what are ALWAYS there for you, through thick and thin, sleep deprivation, toddler meltdowns and everything in between….this is about the mum friends who would STILL give you that hug even when you’re covered in baby sick!” When I saw the competition I smiled for it’s always nice to see such lovely gestures and to see Mums, heck just women in general, encouraging and supporting one another and it was heartening to see how many lovely ladies were being nominated. And then I thought about who I could nominate and I got a bit sad. (You can pop and get your tiny violin for this bit), yes I could nominate lots of lovely Mums. I have a lovely group of friends. Lovely people who I can have a coffee with, have a few pints with or a whinge at. Heck one of them has even given me a hug when I cried once. But looking at the line “no matter what are ALWAYS there for you, through thick and thin” I don’t have THAT friend, the friend I can text in the middle of the night with my woes who I know will text back as soon as they get the message even if it woke them. The friend I can call upon if I’m having a really shit day and just need someone to sit quietly with. The friend who will rock up with a bottle of wine at the exact right time because I mentioned in passing I was finding life a bit tough. The friend who I would actually tell that life is a bit tough and that sometimes I’m not coping. I don’t have THAT friend. I grew up down south (admit it, you went ‘daaarrrrn saaarrrfff’ in your head then didn’t you?) when I was 11 and about to start senior school we moved up north (oop North, I know you did that too). Mobile phones weren’t available to commoners and the internet hadn’t been invented yet (I’m old) and 11 year olds starting big school and making new friends aren’t very good at letter writing and phoning each other. Besides a long distance call on a landline would have had a watch tapping parent in the background. So, obviously, I lost touch with the friends I grew up with. It’s OK though because I moved to a new school and eventually made new friends but once we hit sixth form we all went off to different colleges. Again, mobile phones still weren’t readily available, the internet still wasn’t there for all (we used to do essays on paper with pens and use books for research WHY AM I SO OLD??) so I lost touch with many of my school friends and made MORE new friends. Two years later everyone started drifting off to university and you see how this pans out right? I did have one really good friend I kept from school but when I met my husband *spits* my friends ended up cast aside (my fault for being a shit friend) and we just had joint friends who he subsequently won in the divorce. So as you see, I’ve never had that one friend that’s been there always. Who’s known me forever. Who knows me best. That’s not to say that I’ve never had friends, I have. Loads. Honest. I had a great group of friends when I moved to Leeds in the party years but settling down and having babies didn’t really go hand in hand with that particular lifestyle and group of friends. One even went so far as to refer to my unborn child as the ‘excrement of my womb’ – maybe they weren’t that great at being friends after all. I had some friends I was still in touch with from life pre Leeds. I had work colleagues and friends I met through Rory but I still didn’t have THAT friend and I didn’t actually think it was a problem until I became a Mummy. The first few weeks with Aoife were tough, I had trouble feeding, I was exhausted and lonely. I remember a friend (and mummy) coming to visit, we’d had a bad night and a bad day. As she went to leave I burst into tears “I just can’t do this anymore, I can’t cope” she looked at me awkwardly told me I’d be OK and left. I felt so alone and pathetic and right then I really wished I had THAT friend. The friend who would have hugged me, who would have told me to upstairs and sleep while she looked after Aoife for an hour, the friend who would have cared. Overtime I’ve become envious (I know it’s not a nice trait) of those who do have THAT friend, that support, that thick and thin buddy. I always try to be THAT friend to other people, texting advice at 3am (when it’s been asked for, not just randomly) looking after children because childcare fell through or Mummy just needed an hour to herself. Offering an ear or a hug because someone is having a hard time but I still don’t have THAT friend who’d do the same for me and it makes me sad that it’s probably too late to find them. I think that THAT friend is the most important friend to have but even moreso when you become a Mummy, not just in the first few months. ALWAYS. To let you know you’re doing OK, to sit with you while you cry with exhaustion, to tell you you’ve got mascara on your face, to tell you she also made the same faux pas you did, to help you shove aside your mum guilt and to remind you you’re still you inside. So if you’re lucky enough to have THAT friend celebrate her, let her know. Maybe send her a little gift, tell her you love her or give her a hug and thank her. Thank her for being THAT friend the one who was genuinely there for you when you needed her most and try to be THAT friend in return. This was originally posted over at meetothermums.com The Tale of Mummyhood

The post I’ll be there for you. appeared first on Me, Annie Bee..