I miss Rocky already.

The Youngest is desperate for a pet, first choice a zebra but anything will do, dog, cat, hamster or a budgie, she’d love a budgie. The Eldest, who hates anything that poos, suddenly decided he wants a dog. Not something we thought we’d ever hear him say but there you are, we never thought he’d eat a potato but he now does, people can change.

We plagued The Husband for months then, when he said yes, rapidly changed our minds. After some persuasion we were back on board with the whole dog thing. The Husband cannot for the life of him work out how he ended up talking us into it but he did. Off to Wood Green we went.

We’d already picked our dog, Charlie, but fell in love with Molly and Rocky while we were there. The four of us couldn’t agree though. I wanted Rocky, he was huge and white and scruffy and I loved him on sight. The Husband wanted Charlie a Beagle who, quite rightly, had concluded in an instant that he was far too good for the likes of us. The children wanted Molly because she was small and blooming gorgeous. 

All three were taken.

We went to the park for a bit to give our broken hearts a few moments to heal. After a quick spin on the roundabout all was well in our world.

On the way home we were talking about Molly.

“I wanted Molly” whined The Eldest.

“Me too” I whined in return.

“Was it a cat or a dog?” asked The Youngest.

? . . . . . .

“A dog” said I thinking that it could be an easy mistake to make as she was cat sized.

“Oh, I don’t want a dog” 

Right. Ok then.



I couldn’t play My Little Pony any longer. The Husband didn’t want to pretend to be a brother, again. The Eldest, who is a brother, was holed up in his room with the curtains shut and his ear phones on being as dull as it is possible for a human being to be.

We needed to get The Youngest out of the house. We needed to release her into the wild. We went to Wrest Park. There’s lots of space to run at Wrest Park, plenty of slopes to roll down and lots of other children for her to ask their names.

It was lovely.

We forgot to take snacks so spent £16.40 on some biscuits, two bottles of water and two teas. The Youngest pinched her leg climbing onto the toilet then, between sobs, refused to go for a wee. The Eldest rolled down a slope then moaned about the grass in his pants for EVER. Then there was the row, the row about how to spell tree.

This is what happened when we told The Youngest that tree doesn’t begin with ch.


She came back. Eventually.

I loved it, there was a brass band and ice creams. We’re going back next week, with snacks and a dictionary.


As we left school yesterday I noticed The Youngest was chewing.

“Are you eating?”

She just smiled at me.

“You’re chewing, what are you eating?”

She chuckled a little, she may have chuckled more if her mouth hadn’t have been full. Her friend intervened at this point.

“She’s eating a carrot off the floor”

Of course she was. I’d seen the carrot on the floor, it was dry and a bit wrinkly, it was grim. Yet, Little Miss Hungry had seen it and thought

“Yum, I’ll have that”

I made her spit it out, little grot bag.

I’ve just made her lunch for today with a lovely fresh crunchy carrot in there. I know it’s a good ‘un because I’ve eaten some. Thing is, I feel bad. Why did I make her spit out her tasty treasure? She’d have already chewed the gravel and muck off of it then I made her give up the good bit.

Being a parent is hard, we have to make a lot of quick on the spot decisions.

Yesterday I got it wrong.


Money Money Money

“If you had infinite money what would you buy?” asked The Eldest.

For a while I couldn’t think of anything. Nothing. Damn I’m boring. Eventually I plumped for a house with land, I’d like some land.

“Is that it?”

“Oh, I’d have a top of the range Range Rover, an all singing all dancing Range Rover . . . . . . and a live in chef”

I was getting the hang of it now but it was his turn.

“I’d have a new graphics card and an HTC Vive VR headset for £700. Then I’d give some to the poor”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh yeah, you didn’t think about the poor did you?!”

No. No I did not. I am a horrible human being.


I Wouldn’t Want To Be Anywhere Else

Whenever we go away:

1) We buy supplies, chocolate and milkshake for the kids, food for the grownups. Oh and tea bags.

2) We find leaflets, lots of those touristy leaflets and we each pick a thing.

3) We are each allocated a day to do the thing we’ve picked.

4) We whine about the others choices.

5) We argue over the remaining days.

Day one. The Husband chose the seaside, that was a car wreck and we left in under an hour. The weather was shite and then The Youngest needed a shite. Public toilets are a no and she was doubled up so we left. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, the truth will go with me to the grave.

Day two. The Youngest chose the Queens Palace or Sandringham as it is more commonly known. The Eldest had a broken nut, an injury gained that morning during a game of hide and seek, a dangerous game if ever there were one and we should have known better. He tried but couldn’t walk far so I ended up sat in the car with him whilst the other two went for a wander. The Youngest had a go on one of those trampolines with the bouncy ropes attatched, she loved it. Well it looked as though she did in the recording The Husband took because he knew I’d be pissed I missed it.

“I was acshally terrified” she giggled.

Day three. I chose Davenport’s Magic Kingdom. This was slightly less of a car wreck but only just. We travelled for an hour and a half to a warehouse. We’d gone too far to turn back so in we went. It was ok. Some magical history which was nice. A dead cat and a cheery fellow who talked us through a re-creation of the Davenport’s shop that once stood in London. He did a little magic and was very very funny. Then back into the magical exhibition where we waited for the star attraction. The latest magical Davenport. His long dead relatives must turn, nay spin, in their graves. Only just watchable because The Youngest went onto the stage to have a glass of water popped on her head. She thought the whole thing was “amazing” so I consider this day a win. Just.

Day four. The Eldest picked today as his day for us to do the thing he chose to do. Today is the day we stay in. Yes, that is correct, we are staying in. We are staying in because he’s a funny little chap and his idea of fun is being locked inside our holiday cottage, the four of us, pottering.

Day five. I try to hide the bodies.







Tomorrow We’re Off To The Seaside

What can I say? A trip to the seaside looks so much better in my head than in reality. The funny thing is though, on the way there The Husband and I were discussing the pros and cons of taking our children abroad. Yeah, that’s never happening. We couldn’t manage two hours in Hunstanton.

I’d packed a picnic, I was excited, I love the seaside. The children wanted to stay in the holiday cottage because they are boring beyond belief. We didn’t care and took them out anyway. That was a bit of a boo boo.

It was freezing. When we left the weather was glorious, we were dressed for glorious. We pushed on. What I mean when I say this is we sat in the car and ate our picnic while counting how many layers passers by were wearing.

“I want ice cream. Can I have ice cream please?” said the hardiest of us.

Well why not? That’s what folk do at the seaside. I decided that if ice cream was the game then inside was the aim. We found a cafe.

Half way through my cappuccino and my single scoop of New York cheesecake ice cream . . . .

“I need a poo”

Now then, I’ve heard that many children will poo on a public toilet. I’ve never seen it, thankfully, but I have it on good authority that it has been done. That’s not the case here.

“My tummy hurts” she said clutching at her middle.

Clearly this was happening, they’re was no delaying it.

“Oooh” she’s doubled up at this point.

We break into a trot.

“Mum, can you spell poo? P and an oooo”

It never ceases to amaze what a good education can achieve, she looked so pleased with herself. I was pleased for her. Anyhoo, onwards and upwards.

We’d been at the seaside almost a full hour, not bad, not bad at all, that’ll do. We go back to our holiday cottage.

Our host is in her garden.

“Hello there, have you had a good day?”

I pondered on a polite answer. I wracked my weary brain for something, anything, positive to say about our trip out but I had nothing. I plumped for the truth.

“No. No, not really”

There, I said it, it was out there. I felt better for it. I then inhaled a whole packet of Jaffa Cakes. All was well in the world.

Tomorrow we’re off to the seaside.