10 times a new Muma & a Fresher were the exact same.

I was reminded today by Grimmy off of Radio 1 DJ ledgeness, that it is Fresher time.  So, there I am driving toddlermonster to her swim lesson, my arm contorted in eye watering angles whilst I pass her various lunch offerings,  I cast my mind back to 13 whole Septembers ago and vaguely recollected a ‘Month of Blur’ (not the band). My mind then jumped to the only other time that I have endured a Month of Blur: The newborn days.

I thought I might demonstrate how actually, being a Fresher is the exact same as being a new Muma… Just you wait, Girls, you’ll be amazed:

1.Being awake in the early hours, to the thud of the base, or the squeal of a non-latching      newborn. Exact same thing.

2. Surviving on nothing but a packet of biscuits and a Twix ALL.DAY.

3.The suggestion that you left the house before lunchtime is met with hysterical laughter.

4. Jeremy Kyle is beginning to feel like an old friend, his gambling past, tragic ‘my  brother used to…’ stories, and lie detector suspense has kept you faithful at 9.25am.

5. You make frequent trips to the Dr’s for complaints you never knew existed, in areas you really rather wish had been left alone.

6. Cheesy pasta is a treat; Hot food, cooked in a saucepan.

7. Awkward ‘making new friends’ moments. Eye contact, going in for the kill: the SU or baby massage class. Exact same thing.

8. Surviving on minimal casheesh, student loan v’s mat leave allowance. Its a close call. Toppers should definitely offer a maternity leave 10% discount, students are spoilt.

9. Learning a whole load of new stuff. Text books / baby manuals coming out of your ears.

10. New timetable. Except the one major difference here is that ‘FREE PERIOD’ does not feature in the Newborn version. Almost, the-exact-same-thing.

So there we have it, those Freshers aren’t going to feel so darn rocking cocking now are they…

Mumas, as always, nailing life.

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Growing down for a day

“You do know Muma is just a girl who grew up”
Imparting these words to Darcie has been somewhat of an eye opener for her.
“No you aren’t”, came her reply. Visibly shocked, face all screwed up- eyebrows almost at her hairline and I’m sure the words ‘Old Troll’ were dying to escape her.
It never occurred to me that in Darcie’s eyes I have been forever old.
Being ‘old’ is quite a tiring label really: responsibilities weigh heavy on my shoulders as the day to day task of keeping our girls alive mainly boils down to moi. Just keeping the peace between them is like a military operation and reasoning with an exhausted 5 year old post school is a real edge pusher. It’s enough to see me heading for a cheeky aperitif at 4pm.
But I am not just a Muma, I am a daughter and a sister too; sometimes it’s hard to juggle all of my hats, and not neglect those who were once the only ones I called family- long before the crazy world of parenthood took over the care free please yourself equilibrium.
Last week I escaped domestic bliss life, and went to London to spend some time with my sisters and my step Muma, before the eldest younger sister up sticks and emigrates to Hong Kong on a pretty impressive career path. We rarely get a chance to just have a conversation without a toddler hanging from one of us, usually upside down whilst making aeroplane noises. It’s hard enough to keep up with their 20-something lives, without having to performing some kind of aerobics while I try and grasp the bones of their latest promotion.

Swanky Swoo
The chance to ‘grow-down’ for a day was, frankly, bloody marvellous. To have a day when I have my sister / daughter hat on is a rare treat. We saw the incredible Sheridan Smith performing in Funny Girl at the Savoy Theatre, if you are into your musicals then this one is a classic. We over indulged in a totally OTT afternoon tea, complete with pink champers (no Lidl prosecco for us that day…) at the fabulous Sketch, just off of Regents street. It was super swanky, no ball pit or foam rollers in sight: fish out of water here. We sat on the dusky pink velvet uber-cool non-sharpied-on sofas and chatted, with no interruptions. Well, apart from the rather delicious waiter offering free replenishment’s of sandwiches, cakes and scones… I could get used to this: If it hadn’t cost my entire weeks shopping allowance.

Boys Boys Boys…

I made a pretty huge realisation whilst gallivanting about London. And no, it’s not a corny and cheesy family epiphany at all. Quite the opposite: it’s more a gritty, FE-MALE realisation…

We sat down for a quick coffee before the day’s proceedings got going. Conversation was happening but my eyes were darting all over the place, then it dawned on me why;
I was getting redder and redder by the second as I realised this was the first time in years that I had seen so many men in one room. It hadn’t ever really occurred to me before now, that my life is so female heavy!
Christ, Men still exist!

I was seeing men, blokes, guys, MALES all around us. (Sadly I don’t mean we were a honey pot for these suited and booted boys, we just so happened to be near the counter and so as position would have it, we were, in fact; Surrounded!)
Apart from the odd Dad in the playground and of course, my Hubster… I live in ‘girl domination’!
We have 2 girls, their friends are all girls, I socialise with other Mumas.
I don’t go out to work so really do not have any contact with the Male of the species anymore. It has taken me 5 years to realise this, so clearly I don’t feel there is a huge empty testosterone shaped hole in my life. It’s just strange that after years of working alongside men, in male dominated offices, I really have very little to do with half of the country’s population!
As suit after suit wandered in for their caffeine fix, little did they know this Muma was getting a little fix all of her own…
Ok, I’ll get off of my smutty, pheromone high horse, back to business: The Famalam.

I guess what I’m trying to say is if you are lucky enough to be a sister or a daughter, and you actually enjoy their company, then go hang out with your original tribe: Grow down for a day, shed the responsibility of your rug rats and belly laugh with your circle.
It’s oh so good for the soul.

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If Fireman Sam did Tinder…

PROFILE


Samuel Jones aka ‘Fireman Sam’

Forever 25

Pontypandy, Wales

About Sam..

Action stations girls:

I am single and ready to mingle

I have extensive experience of using a double harness, and ensure I have my giant hose ready at all times to put out the hottest of flames.

Most of my time is taken up looking after a town full of arsonists and deranged inbred kids. It’s time to show bunny boiler Penny that I, Samuel Jones, is ready for some non-PontypandyPoon.

My spare time is spent waiting for the next shitstorm, I do this whilst keeping a close eye on that fuckwit Elvis.
So, swipe right, and let me show you a good time- in a village more dangerous than Midsomer.

Over and out.

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

Stay-At-Home-Muma or Working Muma? My choice…

As sensitive a subject as Breast verses Bottle; I’m half wincing even beginning this blogpost. The time old argument, or rather ‘discussion point’ of Working Muma V’s Stay at Home Muma seems to rage on. Article after article is written on the subject, all contradicting the last, all claiming to be the latest research and written either by Earth Mother herself wrapped in her tie dye gently rocking back and forth on a rush matt with a toddler feeding from her, or City slicker Muma: louboutins- check!

These two extremes don’t really cater for The Lidl Muma – and by that, I mean me! What’s right for the Muma that’s been educated reasonably well?

I was fortunate enough to go to a very academic school, we were all aboard the conveyor belt of GCSE’S, AS levels, A levels, and then on to University as a standard. Utter scandal ensued should you have deviated from this, the very thought of ‘vocational course’ was placed next to shelf stacker as an option. From university I went on to work in recruitment mostly: I’m basically very gobby which helps in a sales environment!

I remember the day I finished work and begun my journey in to MatLeave like it was yesterday: An over indulgent lunch with my colleagues, well friends actually; I spent 50 hours a week with these people! Anyway I bid them all adios with armfuls of Pink goodies, vowing to return in a years time…

However, I just couldn’t tear myself away from my Darcie shaped bundle. I even went to a keeping in touch day, shame it was a financial planning meeting that had me wishing I could bolt out of the door. My brain felt like mush, did I get the train through to Paris because I’m clearly not speaking the same language anymore. That evening I broke the news to The Hubster that I just couldn’t go back to work and asked if we could financially survive.

If I’m totally honest I haven’t looked back since I waddled out of the office door ready to embrace Mumahood. Don’t get me wrong, there have been been moments where I have thought how lovely it would be to have a lunch break, especially when I have been on an involuntary starvation day due to a colicy baby, or a loo break sometimes, ALONE. And yes I have yearned to have a quick browse around the shops on late-night Thursdays after work on more than one occasion. But, and here’s the big but, my bottom line and my raison d’etre: I don’t want to miss out!

I don’t want to be the one to miss the first step, or first word – which would have been nice to be Muma just once: Dada got that, twice. It’s the more mundane everyday stuff that makes you the constant: toddler tripped up and it was me that comforted her, toddler cuts another tooth and needs more cuddles, toddler whacks victim for custard cream at playgroup, – Hell, Toddler has morphed into ToddlerMonster and chucks ‘treasure’ down the loo! I want to be the observer, the comforter, the disciplinarian, and not miss a beat.

However, in my quest to Nurture have I thrown away a great education and a career to boot? Is it realistically possible for me to return to work and still not miss a single thing? Well, of course not because it’s physically impossible to be in two places at once. It doesn’t seem fair that nature has given women a heart wrenching choice to make: follow your career, aspirations and dreams that you may have worked long and hard to build, before children. Or park it. Can a happy medium be reached or do you just end up not achieving either terribly well?

The responsibility I feel as a Stay At Home Muma to show my girls that women are invaluable to the work place is huge, I’m not leading by example here at all. I feel I must try to convince them that Muma is more than just a cleaner / cook / driver / occasional fair weather gardener. I don’t want them assuming that just because Muma doesn’t work I don’t have a brain and can’t answer their billions of critical questions – I can work Wikipedia just as well as the next Muma thanks. So with this in mind I’m now an upstanding member of the Nursery PTA and a wannabe Blogger, the fact that Darcie has begun referring to me as Muma On The Edge is frankly frightening.

This is a topic really close to my heart; I do strongly believe that every Muma strives to do the very best they can for their babies, its nature’s way. There is no perfect way to bring up our babies, just your way. And my god I hope I don’t fuck this up…