As happy as a pig in…um icing?

My Wicked Wednesday is a little late today as the girl and I have spent the afternoon making this masterpiece.

We are going to use it as our entry for the Great British Bake Off.

Why do I bother?

This bloody rain needs to stop!




As happy as a pig in…um icing? As happy as a pig in…um icing1

My Dream Bathroom

Before the munchkins came along and sucked away all of our spare money, the Other Half and I used to live in a little new build mid-terrace. It was small, but okay for us as a couple. Then, the girl came along and suddenly it was like we were living in a cardboard box.  We had to move.

Now, out of a sad situation came a lovely opportunity for my family and I to build a home together. As you know, my dad passed away six years ago, and his mum, my Grandma, passed away three years later. She made it to the grand old age of 93 and was able to meet her great granddaughter. Being an only child, I inherited her house and I chose to sell it in order to get a deposit for our forever home.

The Other Half and I are very fortunate to live in a picturesque little village called Ackworth in Yorkshire and we bought a four bedroomed detached house with fields to the back and side. However, we clearly viewed the property with rose tinted spectacles on as once we moved in we realised that A LOT of work needed to be done on the house. Every penny we had went into the house and every month a large proportation of our wages goes on the mortgage. We tell ourselves that eventually it will be worth it, but right now the house, the mortgage and my recent second maternity leave have crippled us.

One room in the house that particularly annoys me is the bathroom. Within the first week or so of moving in, the stand alone shower broke and I had to get a bath every morning before work which was time consuming and costly. The poor Other Half just stood in a cold shower every morning for five minutes for eighteen months. We have fixed the shower to an extent, but the tiles are dated, old and grubby as you can see. Mr Muscle can not shift that dirt no matter how hard I try.

My Dream Bathroom
We stand in this every morning! Eww!
My Dream Bathroom
I scrub the tiles weekly , but they still look grubby and old.

My ideal bathroom would be modern. I would love a walk in shower and want the shower head to be MASSIVE! I have always wanted a stand alone bath, but the practical Mum in me doesn’t know how suitable one would be with two small children.  However, any bath, whether it be a stand alone one, a corner one or just an acrylic one would be a million times better than this one.  It was sold to us by the previous owners as a ‘jacuzzi’ style bath, but the only bubbles I’ve seen have come from the girl after she has had one too many baked beans for tea…

My Dream Bathroom
Even poor Peppa has seen better days
My Dream Bathroom
Not even the retro VW picture can save this bathroom.

When it comes to decorating and interior design, I really have no idea so that’s why I have enjoyed looking at the websites and choosing my ideal bathroom suite and tiles.  Having looked at the bathroom suites on The Big Bathroom Shop, these are my favourites:

My Dream Bathroom
The Milano Grisdale. It just looks so clean!
My Dream Bathroom
The Milano Nectar. I love how modern it is.
My Dream Bathroom
Ah, the Premier Ryther – aka The Dream!

Of course, for every modern chic bathroom, there must be some awesome tiles too.  These are the ones I like from Tile Mountain

My Dream Bathroom
Greige – Just so modern!
My Dream Bathroom
Lounge porcelain.
My Dream Bathroom
Rhapsody – I think these tiles look like they belong in a 5* hotel!

As you can see, there is such a diverse range of suites and tiles out there for everyone.

I hope I haven’t grossed you all out with the pictures of my current bathroom!

*This is my entry for #mydreambathroom competition run by Big Bathroom Shop and Tile Mountain*

Cot Watch

Good evening,

It is Friday 24th July and it is 8.30pm.  Hello and welcome to ‘Cot Watch Live’.

What is Cot Watch, you ask?  Well, basically it is me upstairs watching a cot.  I can almost hear the TV producers banging down my door.  This week the Ninja Flippin’ Dude has officially been the Snottiest Boy on Earth and being the soft mum that I am, he has been sleeping with me.  Well, no more!  I vowed that over the summer holidays I would get the boy off the boob and in his own bed.  I will have over seven hours of sleep in 2015, by God, I will.

What you need for Cot Watch:

  •   A baby (pictured.)

Cot Watch

  • A cot (pictured.) Cot Watch
  • A V-Tech thing that plays music in pink (it once belonged to the girl and failed miserably at getting her to sleep in her own cot. Pictured.) Cot Watch
  • My favourite purple M&S dressing gown (pictured.) Cot Watch
  • Formula made up and a flask all ready to go
  • A glass of red wine (pictured.)

Cot Watch

  • A boob (thankfully, not pictured.)

I am just going to hold it there as it has been at least ten minutes and he hasn’t cried.  I am worried.

*Grabs iPhone and switches on torch.*

Okay, I have checked and he is still asleep and still breathing.  I had to use stealth like movements as every bloody floor board in this house creaks.  Upon arriving at the cot, I had to take a moment as the blood was pounding in my ears and I struggled to hear his long deep breaths.  But, don’t worry, I am back and have just taken a big gulp of wine to calm my nerves.

It all started so calmly at 6.45pm this evening.  We had finished our haute cuisine of spaghetti hoops, oven chips and fish fingers (we all ate this as tomorrow is The Big Shop) and suddenly bath time was upon us once again.  I ran the bath for the girl and got the boy ready for bed.  After ten minutes or so, the Other Half came into the bathroom, tagged me out (in a WWE Wrestling kind of way) and I was allowed into our room to start Operation Bed Time.  The lights were dim, the formula was made and warm, the Dude was snuggled in his all in one and laying next to me.  I removed the bottle lid.  He drank.  This is a small victory in itself as he often likes to play with the teat, push the bottle away, stand up and shout: ‘Woman! Give me boob!’  Okay, okay, so maybe not that last two, but that’s totally what is going on in his tiny little head.  His little eyes started to glaze over as the milk started to warm his little tum.

Across the hall in the girl’s room, I could hear the Other Half’s frankly brilliant way of settling her down for bed.  And by ‘frankly brilliant’, I mean sh*t.  Since having the boy back in January, my nose has been well and truly pushed out of the girl’s bedtime routine; I am lucky these days if I get a kiss, a cuddle and a slap around the chops before she goes running off into her room shouting the words “It’s activity time, Daddy!”  Ah yes, Activity Time.  What a great way to get your three year old ready to enter the land of nod.

This is what you need for Activity Time:

  • A Dad (or any parent) who is a glutton for punishment
  • A three year old child
  • The ability to lift the three year old child by her legs and swing her around upside down
  • The strength to then grab both the three…

…9.18pm – The boy has woken…

…9.36pm and I am back.  I sung Twinke Twinkle four times, shoved the V-Tech thing back on, stroked his hands, got my hand caught in his vice like grip, read ‘Just a Normal Mummy’s’ latest hilarious blog post (that made me question my not so hilarious one and my ability to write in general), escaped from the death grip and rolled (yes, rolled) out of his room.  And here we are.

*Drinks another mouthful or red wine*

Right, where was I?

  • The strength to then grab both the three year old’s arms and legs together and then swing her up and down
  • A bed strong enough for a three year old to bounce on for ten minutes
  • An iPad with Barbie: Life in the Dream House on or ‘Super Why’  for when you feel guilty about not practising her letters with her that day and insist on an ‘educational programme’

Yes, it’s no wonder she takes ages to get to bloody sleep.  We made a rod for our own backs there.

Luckily for me, the sound of Barbie and Ken chuckling over who had the plastic pox (a doll ailment apparently) did not seem to bother the boy and he continued to doze and drink his milk.  After a few minutes, the teat was released and I secretly cursed him for only drinking four of the seven fluid oz as I knew that the boob may well have to make an appearance.  Like I was holding the finest bone china, I carried him to his cot and placed him in.  His eyes opened.  He looked at me and immediately I knew that holding eye contact was a big mistake.  His eyes glazed again and shut.  I did a little shimmy and a fist bump and the damn floor board creaked.  He woke, he flipped and he cried.  Crap.

Controlled crying commenced for at least three minutes and forty three seconds before I broke, returned him to my room and used the boob and five minutes later he was snoozing again.  Once again, ninja like, I moved him from my room and into his cot.  Guess what?  You already know the answer.  He flipped and cried.  The V-Tech thing went on, I sat down and stroked his back.  After ten minutes or so he fell asleep so I ran down stairs sterilised a bottle, boiled the kettle, poured some wine, grabbed the lap top and told the Other Half all about my ‘Cot Watch’ plan.  “Good idea,” he said.  “Best get up there straightaway before he wakes again.”  Ah, how we love spending our evenings together…

And so it is now 10.01pm and I realise that I am missing a trick here.  The boy is asleep and has been for the best part of an hour if we ignore the 9.18pm blip.  I should be sleeping too and not typing away on this lap top.

Happy Friday night folks! Good night.

I’ll just go check on him again. *Grabs iPhone*

I also need to bring the bottle and formula up from down stairs.

And finish my wine.

And add the photos to the post.  I’m not going to sleep any time soon am I?

Thank you for joining us for Cot Watch. Same time tomorrow? No, I thought not.

Wicked Wednesday

After a weekend at the beach, the boy has returned somewhat snotty.  He won’t sleep (he just ninja flips all over the bed) and when he does, his poor little nostrils are blocked full of the nasty green stuff.  Being the soft Mum that I am, the boy is in our bed, I am tired and my poor un-read Kindle is sitting on my pillow way beyond my reach.

The picture was taken last night just after he had woken for about the seventh time.  We supplied him with Calpol after this shot and he slept for about two hours.  Lucky us…zzz.

#wickedwednesdayWicked Wednesday

An Ode to Sleep – Or Lack of it. AKA Sleep in my own bed? You’re having a laugh.’

‘If my children slept,’ she wept, ‘I’d get all my housework done.’
‘During the light summer nights, I could enjoy a beer on the decking and watch the setting sun.’

‘If my children slept,’ she wept, ‘my evenings would be free.’

‘I could complete my day’s marking and then watch American box sets on my TV.’

‘If my children slept,’ she wept, ‘the other half and I could share an evening date.’

‘Who am I kidding there?’ she mused. ‘No way would I ever venture out and stay up late.’

‘My children don’t like sleeping,’ she cried. ‘Why is this so true?’

‘After watching Barbie: Life in my Dreamhouse a dozen times, the girl will always suddenly need a poo.’

‘My children don’t like sleeping,’ she cried. ‘They’re afraid to sleep alone.’

‘There are no monsters under our beds though, just the Other Half laying in the girl’s room playing Tetris on his phone.’

‘My children don’t like sleeping,’ she moaned. ‘Even thick formula doesn’t do the trick.’

‘And when I pull out a boob for comfort, the boy decides to projectile vomit.’

‘My children just don’t like sleeping,’ she confirmed. ‘I know I am always complaining.’

‘It’s been six months since the boy came along and I am desperate to go netball training.’

‘Shhhh, my children are sleeping,’ she whispered. ‘The house is finally quiet.

‘I’m off to raid the fridge for chocolate and destroy my post pregnancy diet.’

‘Shhhh, my children are sleeping,’ she mused. ‘Finally some alone time.’

‘In fear of them waking up, I never get to savour my red wine.

‘Shhhh, my children are sleeping,’ she whispered. ‘Adult talk for mum and dad.’

‘But he tells me I look tired, hooks up Netflix and starts to watch Breaking Bad.’

‘Shhhh, my children are finally sleeping,’ she says. ‘I think the boy must be teething.’

‘I’ll just nip back upstairs, you know, to check they’re both ok and still breathing…’An Ode to Sleep Or Lack of it. AKA Sleep in my own bed You’re having a laugh

We’re not off to sleep, Mum. Get your pyjamas on and don’t even bother going back downstairs.’

I don’t even know why I have used the pronoun ‘she’. You all know the person in the poem is me.