Banning Books... Really?

I've just read something that's left me utterly gobsmacked. You know when you read something, and your first thought is, it's not the 1st of April yet, is it?

I'm afraid I'm rather out of touch with the news these days; if it's not reported on my local radio station at 7:30am, the chances are I probably won't hear about it. But every now and then I go and take a look at the news sites, and see if anything of note is taking place. Today I stumbled across this piece in the Guardian about the banning of books in prisons.

Apparently in November, the justice minister Christ Grayling, decreed that prisoners may not receive any parcels from outside of the prison unless there are "exceptional circumstances."

Is it just me, or does this all sound a bit... Orwellian?

I would have thought, unless their granny is posting them a copy of the Anarchist's Cook Book, we should be encouraging prisoners to read books? I find it utterly barbaric that we should be saying to people, "well, you're in prison, for whatever reason, and you have no freedom... and now you can't have a book either. Stare at that wall until you go absolutely potty."

You know when you go to the doctor's, and you've forgotten to take a book and all the magazines are 5-year-old copies of Home and Garden, so you think "oh, I'll just sit here and wait, it won't be long..." and by the time the doctor calls you in twenty minutes later, you're practically climbing the walls? I can't even imagine being locked in a confined space for such large amounts of time with no book.

Obviously, if you're in prison you've done something wrong and are not there to have a little holiday... but on the other hand, I would consider reading and books a basic human right. Even inmates on death row in the States are allowed to receive parcels from the public. We don't have a death row here, just people in prison cells, bored to death.

Since the majority of inmates are from the lower end of society, under educated, abused, living lives tinged with lack whether in or out of prison, shouldn't we be doing whatever we can to help them help themselves? If for no other reason than to avoid having them re-offend and end up spending more time wasting tax payers' money in prison? Reading is a massive part of that rehabilitation; arguably the most important part.

At the very darkest, bleakest times in my life, it has often been books that have pulled me through. When I had my breakdown and went absolutely batshit crazy, I bought numerous memoirs of depression and mental illness, and read them from cover to cover. As I started to recover, I read different books. That summer, sitting on benches and in coffee shops all over town, I read my way through a small library. I honestly do not think I could have recovered, had I not had access to books.

When I had S and felt completely lost at sea, I turned to books again. At one point I had a table next to the sofa so laden with books I had to start piling them on the floor. I would read, and read, and read about parenting and premature babies and different approaches to sleeping and brain development and of course What To Expect. Although I disagreed with a lot of what I read, I kept on reading. I'm still reading.

Even now, there are more books in my house than DVDs. There are possibly even more books than toys. And S has a lot of toys. My kindle is so stuffed with books it often crashes and I have to reset it and delete some of the ones I've read.

Books are my life; my life is books.

I could not live without books.

The thought that we are depriving prisoners of books absolutely disgusts me; I find the notion abhorrent that we would deprive those who arguably most in need of what books have to offer.

Support, companionship, escape, knowledge. Freedom. A great book can make you feel free.

Is it so bad to think that someone locked in a tiny cell for most of the day might learn to find pleasure from reading a book rather than from taking drugs or having fights or stealing things, or whatever else they may have done to land themselves in prison in the first place?

I understand the part about locking people up when they've done wrong; but what happened to the part about rehabilitating them so that they don't do it again? Or are we just hoping that they'll be rehabilitated by sewing mail bags and mopping floors?

Motherhood: A Truce

To celebrate Mother's Day, I'm publishing a guest post from Claire Paye of Mothers at Home Matter.

As a spokesperson for Mothers at Home Matter, I would like to offer a truce for Mother’s Day.  A truce between working mothers and stay at home mothers.  The media constantly stokes the flames of the phoney war between mothers through stereotyping.  Stay at home mothers are at home because they are so wealthy they do not need to work.  Working mothers have no choice but to work.  

In reality, things are much more nuanced.  It is tricky to discuss mothers’ choices as there always seems to be an undercurrent of judgementalism.  Let me see whether I can try to bust some myths without bias.

Myth 1:  All working mothers have to work.  Actually, some working mothers work because they want to, not because they have to.  They enjoy work.  Their children are happy at nursery.  The lifestyle they earn is worth reducing the amount of time they can spend with their children.  

Myth 2:  All working mothers have no choice but to work to put food on the table.  In fact, some mothers work because they have bought a large house and put children into private school and they have to work to afford this.  This is the choice they have made and they are happy with it.  

Myth 3:  The only thing the Government can do to help families is to pay for childcare so that both parents can work.  Rubbish.  The Government could sort out the discrimination in the tax system against single income families, where a parent stays at home to look after children or even elderly relatives.  Single income families are taxed so heavily that for a family to increase their disposable income by £3.5k the main earner needs to earn an additional £13k.  However, if the mother goes out to work, they can increase their income by £10.5k straight away as there is no tax on her personal allowance.  So, yes, both parents have to work in this situation, but largely because there is no acceptance of caring responsibilities in the tax system.

Myth 4:  All mothers want to work more. In fact, in a recent survey, 71% of mothers wanted to work fewer hours.  Many mothers work more hours than they want to.  

What are the stay at home mother myths?

Myth 1:  All stay at home mothers are wealthy.  Actually, some stay at home mothers in secure partnerships are in the lowest income bracket of the country because they lose almost half as much again of their income in tax as families where both parents work.  They are not wealthy yummy mummies.  They will never be able to afford a house.  They don’t have a car.  They don’t go on expensive holidays.  They have made financial sacrifices because they think it is important to look after their children themselves.  

Myth 2:  If stay at home mothers are well off, this is just lucky for them.  I’d like to stick my neck out and make the outrageous suggestion that being able to afford to stay at home is not always unfair.  It may be that these mothers worked hard at school, worked hard to get and keep a good job before they had children and were thrifty in what they spent.  They bought a house they could afford on one salary.  They are indeed blessed in life, but they may actually deserve some of the good fortune.  However, woe betide anyone who suggests a link between hard work, spending decisions and income levels.  The poor are always the deserving poor.  However, this links into…

Myth 3:  A mother on benefits is a scrounger.  Why is ok to get government support to pay others to look after your children, but not to get government support to look after them yourself?  Why should the babies of lower income families have to be sent to nurseries, supported by the government?  Why can’t the same money be allocated to support babies in the home environment?

Myth 4:  Stay at home mothers don’t want to do paid work.  Some mothers would like to work but can’t find a job that fits their commitment to their children.  

Myth 5:  Just being at home means you are doing the best thing for your children.  Unfortunately, some stay at home mothers are not really at home.  They spend their time on the computer, watching tv, or even on drugs.  They don’t play with their children, or even make eye contact with them.  Their children are not in the best place for them.  

Myth 6:  Because some mothers are not perfect, the State knows better than mothers what is good for children.  The vast, vast majority of mothers at home are working hard to make sure their children know they are loved and cared for.  And the vast, vast majority of mothers at work are doing all they can to make sure their children know they are loved and cared for.  So let’s not have policies that tell the 80% of the population how to look after their children (send them to school at 2, use taxes to pay for free school meals instead of trusting what mothers put in lunchboxes) when it’s the 20% who are struggling.  Help the 20% without penalising the 80%.

Myth 7:  It is easy looking after babies and children at home.  It isn’t.  If you think it is, you either haven’t tried it or you can’t remember.  

I hope you’ll adopt my Mother’s Day truce.  Almost all mothers love their children deeply.  Almost all babies and children are besotted by their mothers.  Their mother is the single most important person in their lives.  They just don’t always show it.  Especially when they are tired!  One thing all mothers agree on, there is nothing more beautiful than the sight of their sleeping child.  Happy Mother’s Day.

Weekend Blog Hop 2014-03-29

Wow, I can't believe it's the end of March already. I have just over a week before my pumpkin turns two...

We've had a lovely week, doing absolutely nothing of note. It was fantastic, and something that's always underrated.

The clocks go forward this weekend, which may well be interesting with a toddler in the house.
And next week sees S beginning her visits to the big kids' room at nursery, something I am trying very hard not to be upset about!

How has your week been, have you been up to much? Do you have plans for this weekend or next week?


Please link up your Facebook page here:


And please link up your blog here:


Have a great weekend!

Copy Writer with Writer's Block

When I first agreed to give up interacting on social media for Lent, I was worried about how this would affect my blog traffic. I resolved to be a lot more conscientious about the blog during Lent, so as to make up for not being able to spend time on Facebook and Twitter. My plan was that I would post every day, schedule tweets, and make a daily effort to share my posts in all the places I usually forget to.

So far, so good.

On the other hand though, I'm a freelance copy writer these days. I spend a great deal of my time writing copy for other people. In the last few days I have written pieces on Tahitian pearls, the importance of taking supplements, implementing a sleeping routine for a baby when you return to work, fancy dress costumes, the importance of hygiene in salons, insomnia, self storage, Gwyneth Paltrow and Pimm's. Several of those were written in the last 24 hours.

I think I've used up all my creativity; I can't write about anything else without regurgitating at least a few lines from something I've already written this week. 

Usually, I'll have four or five ideas for blog posts buzzing about my head. I'll compose them in my head as I walk to and from nursery or do the washing up.

Today... nothing. I'm out of ideas. 

Incidentally, I would dearly love to regurgitate some of the copy I have written in the last couple of days; I am very proud of some of it, and a little gutted I can't just post it here and claim it as my own. But really, 500 words on Pimm's, on a blog whose previous post was about alcohol free wine, from a woman who actually doesn't  like to drink... it wouldn't really fit!

So instead, I give you... a post about having nothing to post about. I hope you've enjoyed it.

As an added bonus, here is a photo of this time last year. Happy Friday.

Review: Eisberg Alcohol Free Wine

I was offered some alcohol free wine to review, which was nice. At first I was a bit confused as to the point of alcohol free wine, but then I thought about it, and spoke to a few people.

More than one friend told me, alcohol free wine got me through my pregnancy!

At first I thought, surely if you don't want to drink alcohol, then you'll just drink lemonade or something. Having tried this though, I have to say I think I've changed my mind!

I tried the Rosé and was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted just like most other Rosés. I had a lovely glass of wine yesterday evening after putting S to bed, and it was nice to just sit and relax with a glass of wine, without worrying about getting drunk or having a headache in the morning (yes, I really am that much of a lightweight that one glass of wine can give me a headache now).

The reason it tastes almost the same as normal wine is that it's made in the same way - but at the end of the process, the alcohol is removed with some clever jiggery pokery to leave all of the flavour but no alcohol. Genius!

The good thing about this wine is that, as well as having no alcohol, it has a third of the calories of normal wine - so it's practically a diet drink (or that's what I'm telling myself). One glass has just 34 calories.

I can see now why they say that Eisberg is the perfect gift for new mums and mums to be.

Eisberg comes in four varieties: the "juicy and succulent" Rosé which I tried, an aromatic Riesling, a crisp Chardonnay or a fruity Carbernet Sauvignon. I'm tempted to try the Cabernet next to be honest... I do miss having a nice glass of red in the evenings. I gave it up because I have a toddler who can't be relied upon not to wake me at shit o clock, something I just can't cope with if I've had even a sniff of a drink!

The full range is available in Morrisons, with selected varieties in Asda and Waitrose. They retail at just £3.50 as well, so a lot cheaper than your usual bottle of plonk! Or you can visit the Eisberg website here.

Single Parents Can Foster Too!

This is a guest post from Lorimer Foster Services

Every 22 minutes a child is taken into care (figures from fostering charity, the Fostering Network). Some need long term fostering and some just need short term fostering or respite care, either way there are over 4000 children in need of a safe place.

Lorimer Foster Services are on a recruitment drive to get more carers to help with the number of children in care, but also help raise awareness that anyone can become a foster carer.

It is a common misconception that single parents cannot become foster carers. Somewhere down the line the idea that the perfect foster home is a stay at home Mum and hard working dad with older children who may have left home has become the norm.

There is no such thing as a ‘normal’ family; it is now common for children to grow up with 2 Mums, 2 dads, a step family and half siblings or just 1 parent. Single parent families are becoming more normal and while they face particular hardships and challenges, they are doing a great job at the same time.

Being a single parent, you sometimes have to make a compromise between work and your child. You make a decision that suits your family; this may be going back to work and paying for childcare or you may decide to be a stay at home mum or work part time. Foster care is not a typical career, but many single parents who have decided to stay at home find it is a good career option for them and their families.

Being a foster carer is a good career choice if you enjoy looking after children and have room. A social worker will help find a suitable foster child who will thrive in your care without impacting your birth child, or children, too much. Some social workers will advise that if you foster a child that they are a different age to your birth children, as this can help your birth child and the foster child settle much better. However, some carers find that if the children are the same age they can participate in similar activities which can make things easier, you can discuss this with your social worker and figure out what is best for you.

Looking after a child that is not your own, entitles you to certain allowances that are tax free and will not affect any benefits or tax credits you currently receive. Once upon a time, fostering was considered a voluntary service or charity, however, now to recruit and retain good foster carers it is accepted that local authorities offer financial support, especially as some foster carers give up full time employment to foster and enjoy fostering as a career. Fostering can work really well for single parents as they may already need to stay at home to care for their own children. If you join a good fostering agency they can negotiate up to £500 a week tax free for each child you foster.

From the applicants we see, single parents are often some of the best foster carers; they are committed to the role and have a good experience of parenting their own children.

Although anyone can apply to be a foster carer, you are more likely to be successful in your application if you can demonstrate parental skills, as single parents have already assumed the roles of mother and father in some cases. A good foster carer is optimistic with a good sense of humour.

Giving Up Social Media for Lent - Week 3

My friend Simon and I have given up interacting on social media for Lent. You can read our first blog post about it here.

We're now three weeks in...

I don't watch live TV any more. I use the catch-up service on my cable TV to scroll through what was on TV last night or the night before, and decide if any of it is worth watching... Quite often, none of it is. What's struck me this week about not being on social media, is that it's kind of the same. I'm not on Facebook or Twitter being bombarded by every detail of people's lives; I choose who I interact with, whose stories I hear or read, whose problems I know about. It's quite refreshing to have pulled myself out of that constant stream of it all. And yes, I know that I post a lot myself (even at the moment) but I do at least try to keep it positive and upbeat. So many people are miserable, whiney, spreading hatred and fear and distrust and general unpleasantness - or just schadenfreude I suppose. I haven't missed any of that at all. I miss knowing what my friends are up to, but I'm sure if anything terribly important happens, I'll receive a text or an email!

Last week, a man I vaguely knew died. When I say "vaguely knew" I mean that we were Facebook friends and had exchanged comments from time to time. I had known he was ill, but he wasn't on Facebook very much so I didn't really know how bad it was. When he died, Facebook was (apparently) awash with messages of condolence - and rightly so, the man was a legend and will be sorely missed. I wasn't on Facebook though; I found out he had died because Simon (who works in radio, and weirdly just seems to know everyone who has ever worked in radio) called to tell me.

Not so long ago, an old friend from school died; I found out through Facebook and it didn't feel very nice. I'm actually glad that I wasn't on Facebook last week, and found out through a phone call - it was much more personal and not sandwiched between comparatively unimportant status updates about TV shows and what people were having for lunch.

On the other hand though, the nominations for the BiB Awards opened last week. I wasn't really aware of I am going to Brit Mums Live, thanks to a lovely lady who offered to sponsor me. And since I'm going to a spangly awards ceremony, I have a fair bit more interest in who wins an award - I'd quite like to get one myself! As soon as I realised nominations had opened, I wanted to get onto social media and start... er... politely pointing out to every person I've ever met that the nominations are open. But I couldn't. I posted a link on my blog's Facebook page (which I have still been updating with links etc), but that was it. No posting in the many groups of which I am a member; no chatting to people about how I'd love them forever if they nominated me, nothing. It will just have to wait until April 20th.

the BiBs or what they were last year, but this year

So how is Simon getting on?

Has it really been 2 weeks?

Simon's hilarious photo.
Facebook, you missed a treat.

Here are some things I have not been able to do this week as a result of my Social Media Ban for Lent:

Rave about how proud I am following the Year 5 parents evening at school.

Complain about how bad the communication has been about the Year 3 parents evening being postponed again.

Canvas opinions from friends about current accounts (I’m thinking of changing mine).

Share a picture of the sand school at the stables, which I levelled for the first time using the dump truck (#proud #ILoveDrivingTheDumpTruck #BigKid).

Share a hilarious giraffe/spider picture I found on a website while researching something.

Status update about having a powercut. Not a flicker, but an actual power cut for 3 whole minutes. Can’t remember the last time that happened.

Some things I have done as a result of my Social Media Ban on Lent:

Call Vicky to tell her that someone she had mentioned in passing before had died (I wasn’t sure how close they were and didn’t want to let her know by text).

Call another friend to find out how his sabbatical from work went, and see it had given him perspective on his job (he wasn’t loving it before he went, to the point that I was a bit worried about him).

Drive for an hour to meet a friend for a coffee, and then drive back to work 90 minutes later. The time passed in an instant as we caught up on our lives.

So as you can see my life actually seems to be better for not being on social media.

And I’m guessing everyone else’s is too, given the banal nature of what I would have shared.

I just need a few more hours in the day to be more sociable.

Or perhaps I just need fewer friends?

I fear there may be an Easter Sunday Facebook Massacre on the cards...

You can read our next post here!

#3Dates3Mths - Blind Dates.

For those who don't know/remember, the #3Dates3Mths challenge is something set up by Just Singles. They got together a group of bloggers and set us the challenge to go on... well, 3 dates in 3 months. One of the dates had to be found through their website, and the other two had to be found "in other ways." (If you want to read about how the other bloggers are getting on, you can follow the Just Singles blog here or follow the hashtag on Twitter)

When I first signed up for this challenge, I commented to a friend that I had no idea how I would procure myself two dates without the help of a website. His reaction was: "there's a lovely bloke at work who would be ideal for you; he mentioned just the other day that he was thinking of joining a dating website. I'll set you up with him!"

And so, that was that taken care of.

... Or so I thought.

What actually happened was that two weeks later, when I'd heard nothing, I sent a text to said friend asking whether he'd spoken to his colleague and arranged this blind date. He said no, but he would now. He told me the guys name, saying "he's on my Facebook friends; go and check him out and see what you think!" I was really feeling decidedly awkward about the whole situation, but knew I'd agreed to do this challenge so figured I should just stop being a big pansy and crack on. The friend told me he'd spoken to the man in question, and he seemed up for the idea, and that I should send him a Facebook message. Again, slight panic set in; I really don't enjoy doing things that could lead to rejection of any sort. But again, I knew I had to do this challenge. So I sent (what I thought was) a short, witty message saying hello and I hoped he wasn't too mortified by our mutual friend's Cilla shenanigans.

And...

Nothing.

No response, nothing. At all. At any point. Clearly my message was not as witty as I had intended.

Bugger. Nobody likes rejection, but worse than that - I still needed to find a date for this challenge. (Actually I'm lying; the rejection was the worse of the two there)

After a few weeks of nursing my bruised ego, I bit the bullet and sent a text to a few friends asking if they had a single friend they would consider setting me up with for the purposes of this challenge.

I probably texted around 10 or so friends. Most replied saying that sorry, they'd been married for years and knew no single men. Fabulous. Where the hell are all the eligible bachelors hiding?!

My friend Sam did something very... "Sam" about it though. She put up a Facebook status: "my friend is doing a challenge and needs to go on a blind date; which of my single male friends would like to oblige?" She gave me a brief description of two volunteers, and told me which she thought would be best suited to me. I agreed, and she did the mobile number exchanging bit for us.

Enter Potential Blind Date #2.

We chat briefly via text. He asks if I'd like to go out this weekend. Bloody short notice, but I rush around bribing my sister with all sorts in order to get her to babysit for me and we agree on Saturday evening. It starts as meeting for a drink, and then he suggests dinner too. I panic about what the hell one should wear on such an occasion, and spend a mad Saturday morning trawling around the shops with my sister in tow for fashion advice (from an 18 year old biker chick? What was I thinking?), and of course the toddler, for added torture. (If you've never tried shopping for clothing for a date that night with a grumpy toddler in tow, I strongly advise you not to. Ever.)

After a rather fruitless morning in town, we come home. I put S down for a nap, and begin to wonder whether I should paint my nails. Are you supposed to paint your nails for a first date? Will I look a bit rubbish if I just have, ya know, normal nails? I decide I should at the very least ensure they are clean and not speckled with poster paint and whatever that mark is there.

At this point, about 5 hours before the date is supposed to happen, the man sends a text saying he feels rubbish but he's going to have to cancel because of some lame excuse he'd not thought of sooner. He makes no attempt to reschedule. I honestly have no idea why. We seemed to be getting on ok with the texting, and he seemed to be looking forward to the date. He had, after all, suggested we have dinner as well as a drink.

If I'm honest, there was a little bit of relief at the thought of not having to go and meet a complete stranger... but mostly it was just irritation at wasted time, effort and wondering over nail polish.

And so, in conclusion, blind dates are not what they seem to be from watching soaps and rom coms.  When you get to my age and all of your friends are married, nobody knows any single men. And the ones they do know... well, it seems they are happily single, and not looking to be hooked up with a single mother who blogs.

NEXT!

Finding Out I Was Pregnant

September 2011. For the past few months I've been living in this house, returning to my own home only to pay rent and pick up my post.

Me, a couple of days before I found out I was pregnant

Living here is quite stressful; there are six children running around with very little in the way of discipline, guidance or boundaries. There is fighting, noise, swearing, squabbling, destruction and chaos. Having lived alone for most of my adult life, I'm finding it quite tough - but the rare moments of quiet, where one of the children is drawing with me or another reading a book with me, those are the moments I treasure. The moments that restore my sanity and patience.

One evening, I have an argument with one of the older children. I can't even tell you what it's about, but it really pisses me off, and I go into the bedroom to hide, lest I say something nasty to her. It ends with her laying on her bed crying, shouting "you're not my mum! I want my mum!" to which her father replies (shouting from the next room) "yeah well, she's not here is she - she left you." I feel awful for her, but I know I am not the person she wants to comfort her, and I don't want to make things worse.

The next morning on the way to work, he tells me I need to go and stay at my house for a few nights; I am clearly not able to cope with his children and he doesn't like for me to be nasty to them so I must go to my own house for a while, and calm down. I feel terrible; worse when I later find out that he has gone home that evening and told his children that I have left because of their terrible behaviour and might never come back.

That weekend, one of them has a birthday. Birthdays are the only times the whole family goes into town together, for breakfast at a cafe or pub. We arrange that I will meet them for the birthday breakfast, and then go home with them. We pass a lovely morning with the children, first having breakfast and then going to the library, a place they've never been before. When we go home, we stop at the children's grandmother's house and the birthday boy is given some money. I take the birthday boy back into town on his own to spend his money. He doesn't seem as chirpy and excited as you would expect for a 7 year old on his birthday; he seems miserable and I want to cheer him up.

When we get home, we find his father putting together the new bike he's bought for the boy's birthday. He is drunk and moody. He insists that I too should get drunk, and I am dispatched to the local shop to buy some wine. We pass a tense evening where his children try to stay out of his way. Once they are in bed, he starts to argue with me. I remember very little of the argument, except the feeling that I can't get a word in, and he won't just stop and listen to me. His younger daughter creeps down the stairs saying "Daddy, stop being mean to Vicky." She's sent back to bed, and we carry on arguing. Eventually he tells me he can't stand my outlandish behaviour and mood swings any more, and I must leave. We are splitting up. I say okay, I will pack my things in the morning and go. This is not good enough though; I must leave right now, in the middle of the night.

By this point we are in his bedroom. I am on the edge of the bed, head in hands, trying to think straight. He is behind me, leaning on the wall and talking constantly. He won't shut up. I'm trying to figure out how I can get all of my things out of his house and across town to my house in the middle of a Saturday night. He won't let me think; he won't stop telling me all the things I've ever done wrong. I pick up the nearest thing I can find, and throw it at him. He still won't stop. He tells me to call a taxi, but I can't bear the thought of a taxi driver helping me to carry my things while I cry uncontrollably. I call my mother. This is the first time in my entire adult life I have ever called upon my mother to help me in this sort of way, but I don't know what else to do.

When I put the phone down he tells me, "you fucking cunt, calling your mum and crying down the phone to her to make me look bad!" I try to ignore him, and start to pack my things. As I begin to put take my things downstairs, I realise that the older children are awake; they have heard everything. I give each of them a hug and tell them I love them, and then leave.

The next day my mother brings me back to collect the rest of my things. He is laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn't acknowledge me or speak, the entire time I am there. The rest of the day is spent at home, crying uncontrollably. My sister brings me a tub of Ben & Jerry's and looks scared. Even mid breakdown, nobody ever saw me like this.

The next day is a Monday, and I have to go to work. I wake up with that horrible feeling you get when you've been crying forever: tight skin, dry eyes. My boobs hurt. My boobs never hurt. And in that moment, before I even get out of bed, I know.

I text him from work telling him I need to come and collect the rest of my things from his house that evening. I know there is still a pregnancy test there; he's been buying them as part of his Tesco order for months, and I've been doing one every week or so. I catch the bus to his house, gather up the rest of my things, and sit on the edge of his bed. I ask if we can try again; I'll try harder, I'll be nicer to the children, I'll get on top of the never-ending mountain of washing in the kitchen. I'll be better. He says he'll have to think about it. I stand up to leave, and remember the pregnancy test. I tell him I'd like to take it with me, just to make sure. He insists that I do the test right now, so I take it into the bathroom with me.

The line appears. My stomach sinks. I feel like I might fall over.

I walk back to his bedroom, as if through a tunnel. I don't register the clothes on the floor, the children fighting on the stairs, the dog laying across the landing. I close the door behind me and say "I'm pregnant." I show him the test.

"How do I know it's mine?"

"I've barely left your house for the last few months; you know I've not slept with anyone else; I wouldn't even have had time to."

"You were pretty fat when you got here; you might have been pregnant already and trying to pin it on me."

He gives me his bank card, instructing me to buy one of those tests that tells you how far gone you are, and to bring it to his house after work the next day.

I walk home in a daze, vaguely aware that it is dark and I am being irresponsible, walking along this poorly lit path on my own; after all, it's not just me any more is it, I need to look after my baby. It's the most surreal thought I think I've ever had.

The next day I buy the test and take it to his house. He comes into the bathroom with me and watches me pee on it. When it comes up with "3+ weeks" he accepts that the baby is his. I have no idea how my being 3+ weeks makes a difference, but it does and now it's ok and I can be his girlfriend again.

It's a good job I've been taking Pregnacare and Osteocare for the last two months, isn't it. I'm so lucky he started buying them for me. I'm such an idiot to have had a drink on Saturday night, though; I shouldn't have done that. What a fucking idiot. Now I might have damaged the baby and it'll be all my own fault. This thought hangs over me throughout my pregnancy.

Weekend Blog Hop 2014-03-22

Happy Weekend!!!

I hope you've all had an absolutely fabulous week! I'm missing hearing what everyone has been up to on social media, and would encourage you all to comment or drop me an email with all the gossip... I miss the gossip! I've only a month left now of Lent, and then I shall be back with a vengeance... probably.

This week I have been trying to wean S off Despicable Me by doing... you know... actual activities. So I  got my thinking cap on, washed out some empty plastic bottles, and painted some pasta (with glitter poster paints, of course). 

I absolutely love this photo because the sunlight makes the bottle look like it's lit up. And of course my little pickle also looks super cute. We'd started off sorting the pasta according to colour, but then ended up putting the pasta into an empty bottle instead. Luckily I kept a big old stash of empty bottles exactly for situations like this (and not at all because I am rubbish at taking the recycling out).

Other things that have happened this week... S sat down on the floor in Superdrug and refused to move until a staff member finally prised her bum off the floor by giving her one of their shiny loyalty cards... I had a food delivery from Hello Fresh and learned how to cook chickpea curry... someone asked me if I was pregnant... (I'm not pregnant)

Right, enough about me! This is the bit where you add links to your Facebook pages and blogs and we all visit each other and do the sociable thing and everything is sweet. 

Facebook links here:

Blog links here:

Paddington's Week

As we were leaving nursery one day last week, we were handed a very special bag... Paddington was coming home with us for the week!

He came in a bag with a diary for us to fill in, a story book and a few other bits.

So here's what we did with him:

On his first night we were a little unprepared, so he slept on the sofa and came upstairs for some cuddles in the morning.

It was our day off, so S and I tried to come up with some fun things for Paddington to do.

First Paddington and Ted sat and played with MegaBloks with S.

We walked into town, and S and Ted sat on the checkout in M&S while I paid for our shopping. There was a cheese straw involved because that is the best way to get my child to be even vaguely amenable when shopping.

Paddington showed us the trailer for his latest movie. We were impressed. He's very down to earth, for a movie star.

Paddington and Ted watched S putting pom poms into a bottle. She was very good at it because she likes to do it every day (and then Mummy has to get the pom poms out with her expensive eyebrow tweezers so they're ready for the next day)

We made a special bed for Paddington, using the blanket a friend knitted for S when she was born. He loved it and slept a lot more soundly than S. (perhaps it was the blanket... perhaps I should consider putting her to bed under this blanket tonight...)

On the days S went to nursery, Paddington stayed home and played with her toys. When she came home, he watched her playing all sorts of fun games. In this picture, she is putting pipe cleaners into a bottle. This wasn't as popular as the pom poms though, so she didn't do it again.

S enjoyed reading stories to Paddington and Ted. They enjoyed the stories and the animal noises that went with them.

Paddington tried a piece of orange. I thought he'd like it because that's what marmalade is made from, but he wasn't so keen. I hate fussy house guests.

On Saturday we went to Nana's. She was out, which was handy. We used the time to make a mess of her house and leave hundreds and thousands all over the sofa. Paddington and S attempted a puzzle, but ended up just leaving the wooden blocks in cleverly irritating places.

While we were at Nana's we found a very old Paddington. His hat and coat were the wrong way round, but he was still smiling.

After Nana's, we walked to Auntie Lou and Uncle Lew's house. They have children who are just the right age for playing, and the sort of garden that's perfect for such things. Paddington and S commandeered her cousin's old trike and rode around the garden like cool dudes.

When we came home, we read a book about Paddington going to the beach. Paddington was very good about keeping the ending a secret.

Paddington, Ted and Fluffy Bunny (a present from Kit) enjoyed watching S sort coloured pasta into different pots. Considering how long it took Mummy to paint the blummin pasta, we really thing S should have enjoyed it a little more.

Paddington and Fluffy Bunny enjoyed sitting in Paddington's bed together while we ate tea. I think they were getting a little too close though, and I dread to think what the children would look like - so they were separated at bed time.









Paddington was a little gutted not to be allowed to share S's bath, so we sat him on the toys in the corner to watch. He got a bit bored though, and fell in... so he had to go to bed instead. Naughty Paddington!

Giving Up Make Up For Lent

I'm not the only giving up daft things for Lent; Lucy Sutton has given up (brace yourselves, ladies) wearing make up for Lent!

When I was on BBC WM on the first day of Lent talking about not interacting on social media, Lucy was also interviewed. I emailed her afterwards and asked if she'd like to share her experience on the blog...

You may be reading the title of this and thinking – WHAT?!

Yes you read right, I have decided to give up make up for Lent.

Now this wasn’t a decision I took lightly, I can assure you, I made sure that there weren’t going to be any BIG celebrations during the time of my make up abstinence, that I needed to put on my slap for and I think I definitely got the timing right!

I have many reasons for giving up make up for Lent and the main reason that I wanted to do it is to say to women – you don’t need make up to be beautiful, your beauty comes from within and you shouldn’t mask your inner beauty. I wear make up to hide my insecurities as a woman and I know a lot of women can relate to this and I want to show them that you can still be beautiful without make up on.

I had decided to give up make up a couple of weeks before Lent started and I thought I could ‘prep’ my skin before the day came to show my naked face. Now, during this time, I got all my skincare products out, not many might I add, just day and night moisturiser, face wash, exfoliator and sudocream. Typically, I hadn’t noticed much difference in my skin having used all these products, every morning and evening, and I was getting worried that I was going to be faced with dreadful skin for Lent. However, the last week of prepping my skin, I did notice that my redness, blotches and spots were going and thought to myself, ‘YES!!’ I can be content with the way my skin looked and be happy with it for the duration of Lent. Unbeknown to me, someone, somewhere decided that ‘Hey…I’m going to test Lucy even further by giving her spots overnight, the day before for the big reveal’ and guess what? I woke up the morning of Lent and there they were, SPOTS!!!

Oh how I wanted to have a big black hole and fall right into it….

First day came and I walked into work and found myself very exposed, vulnerable and a little bit scared.

I hadn’t told anyone that I was giving it up, apart from 1 person in another department, so I wasn’t really expecting much talk about it. I found that when I was speaking to people or listening to what others were saying, I would cover up the bottom half of my face (which is where I had my spots) just to hide them away and I kept my head down most times too. I couldn’t wait to finish work that day and just go back to the comfort of my own home and just hide away – my husband, family and friends knew about it and they’ve been giving me fantastic support throughout it so far. But all credit to my husband Luke, who’s had to put up with it!

I made the brave decision to post on Facebook and Twitter that I was giving up make up for Lent and the response I have had has just been incredible and a lot of women that I know couldn’t quite believe why I was doing it and also expressed their admiration for me showing off my ‘naked’ face on Facebook. For me, this was my way of just getting it out there and showing everybody that I’m doing this for me, not anyone else, not my husband or my family, but for me. I want to show everybody what I can achieve and at the end of it, I want to look back and say ‘Yes I gave up make up for Lent and proud of it’.

Everyone has been so supportive and a friend of mine put me onto a radio producer who was keen to chat to me on a late night radio show – I thought I aced it! It was definitely the proudest moment of my life so far and for me, it was a big deal as I’m not the most confident person and it has brought me out of my shell. I was proud to talk on the radio about my decision to give up make up and even the host couldn’t believe it either!

Since then, I have been positive and although I have had my low moments – I’ve perked myself up knowing that I will achieve something at the end of it.

I’ve had some funny questions and comments from various people regarding my ‘naked’ face, questions being:

1. You feeling ok?
2. You look really tired….(I do look tired without mascara – you can see my bags!)
3. Your eyes look red, you ok?

I’m currently on my second week of Lent and I can safely say I have embraced it with open arms, I’m still feeling up and down, but I know I will absolutely look back on my experience and say yes, I did it.

2 weeks down, another 4 to go….