Monthly Archives: March 2014

Ovo Energy – energy consumption in households

The following post is a user-friendly guide on behalf of Ovo Energy about energy consumption in households: trying to save you a bit of money – and we could all do with that, right?

How being in a relationship can save you money
Make the right choice: find out how to get a cheap electricity deal and feel loved again!

***sponsored post***

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As you may have gathered from previous posts, we have pets. Four in total: Chicken and Fluffbomb (cats), Badger and Annabel (dogs).

Animals are not every bodies cup of tea (WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOOOUUU??!) and I’ve been quite conscience of that, only posting now and again on here about our fur buddies, and ususally only when its relevant to Gibby, as subscribers to a parenting blog just may not be interested.

But for those that are, I’d like to share with you my brand spandangly new pet blog:


A place I can waffle on to my hearts content about the many and varied ups and downs – mostly ups – that our four legged friends can bring an ordinary(ish) family.

I’d love for you fellow animal-loving nutters to have a look.

Follow on twitter @furrbuddies


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Crowsfeet: A childs perspective

I could spin this out into a  long winded rant about self image and the influence of our actions on our daughters, couldn’t I? But I think the conversation Gibby and I had this morning is kind of perfect as it is.

“Mummy what are you doing?”

“I’m rubbing some cream on my eye.”

“Can I have some?”

“No sweetheart, it’s just for Mummy.”

“Are your eyes are poorly?”

“Haha! No. It’s to try and get rid of the lines around them.”

“Oh.” ***Sulky Face*** “You won’t look as smily now.”

I guess it’s a good job those creams don’t really work, isn’t it?


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Domestic Failings. (I’m fine with it though.)

How You Know You Lack Domestic Skills:


  • Your remove your shoes at a friend’s house and they register genuine surprise that you have a matching pair of socks on.
  • Your 4 year old daughter sees vegetables being sieved so rarely that she congratulates you on “catching carrots in your net.”
  • In a sleepy state, you bend down to pick up a rogue child’s sock using tissue paper because you assumed one of the cats had vomited a fur ball.
  • You listen to your colleagues moaning about their husband’s domestic bad habits and keep firmly shtum because you know you’re guilty of all of them.
  • You reached the age of 35 without realising you should drain mincemeat when making a  bolognaise. (I know! Who’d have thought, right?)
  • You have reached the age of 35 without ever cooking a roast.
  • Your husband will not allow you to iron his work shirts.
  • You improvise a “picnic” tea on the living room floor more evenings than is proper because the kitchen table is permanently covered in paints/art/craft stuff.
  • You lose the key finder your husband bought you for Christmas.
  • You have also lost the sign that says “Please excuse the mess – we’re busy making memories” that you thought might in some way justify the state of the house.
  • Your daughter announces to her little friend that comes to play “Mummy says we can’t go in her room –  it’s really messy.”

Ah well . . . I can’t be great at everything, dammit!


“At worst, a house unkept cannot be so distressing as a life unlived.” —Rose Macaulay

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Why I hate Baby Wearing

Oooooooh . . . Contravertial! Well actually, not so much. It’s the term I have a beef with – the obsession of categorising and labelling the many ways we try to muddle through parenthood – not the practice of doing it. And when did this become a “thing” anyway? I don’t remember this being a “thing” when Grace was a baby, much like “attachment parenting.” Just hearing the words annoys me. If I haven’t followed this latest rule book (or thing-we-all-do-but-someone’s-given-it-a-label-and-made-a-load-of-cash-and-publicity-for-themselves) to the letter, then is the implication that I am unattached to my baby?

I am not disputing any of the claims made about it. I just despair of the need to put what kind of parent you are in a box.

Sometimes, if she really wouldn’t settle, I would keep Grace on me in a sling. That was fine. Sometimes I didn’t and she’d sleep in her basket. That was fine too. In fact personally, that was preferable as I have a back problems. Does that make me a “baby wearer” ? Are there a certain amount of hours in a day to fulfil the criteria to claim the baby wearing title? It baffles me.

And is the act of “baby wearing” open to interpretation I wonder? Could it be taken literally? Perhaps we could fashion our new borns into some kind of elaborate hat or brooch? I can just picture myself sauntering down a trendy highstreet, my baffled baby carefully woven into an Ascot-stylee headpiece that Princess Beatrice would be envious of. I would nod knowingly at the starring passers by and point up to the wee one bouncing along on my bounce whilst smugly mouthing the words “baby wearing, darling.” Ha.

One of the “pros” I carefully researched found on Wikipedia was that it helps to “humanise” your baby. This is worrying. If I haven’t filled my quota of hours to be an official practitioner of “baby wearing”, then I will at some point have to brake the news to Grace that she is not, in fact, human.

Pro number two read as follows:

“Babywearing allows the wearer to have two free hands to accomplish tasks such as laundry.”

Oh just f*** off.

If you love having your baby with you 24/7 because that’s how you want to parent, then I totally get that, but if you do it to be more efficient at multitasking, then I’m afraid we can’t be friends.

Relating this to my own experience of having a baby, I suspect the good karma generated by the times I did “wear” Grace was counterbalanced by the stress levels of my husband. He worried about my clumsiness you see ( it has been said that I am somewhat lacking in spacial awareness) and he’d hop around me and the little bundle strapped to my chest swiftly darting his hand twixt baby’s head and any sharp corners or door frames I approached.

Thank God we didn’t have twins or triplets.

Was I the only one to watch the infamous Geldof/Hopkins interview on This Morning and think they were both talking guff?

What kind of parent are you? A baby wearing/whispering/Fordian/old school/attachment/contented/controlled/baby-lead one?

Or is there an official category for the parents that don’t fit into an official category and are just trying their best? Trying different things and seeing what suits? Because surely that’s 99% of us.

How about . . . Now bear with me on this because this is pretty radical . . . Parents fall into one of just three categories:

Or the name the kids you love call you.


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