Putting baby on the shelf.

So we’ve been enjoying our stay at Center Parcs this week with lots of sunshine, playing on the beach,

We’ve enjoyed walks in the sunshine and spotting all the animals that scurry about but most of all we’ve enjoyed the pool.

We’ve been swimming inside and out, going down slides and rapids and generally just splashing about, it’s all been great until we get to the changing room.

So the changing rooms are equipped with family changing cubicles with baby change shelves and a larger amount of room to move about in, all well and good. But when there are two children to dry and dress, one of which will be confined to the changing shelf, the other worming around and trying to explore every corner of the limited space there is, usually round by the bin area, things can become a little flustered, nevermind the fact that you also need to put clothes on!

So we’ve already wrangled the boys out of their wetsuits and into a dressing gown before we’ve left the poolside – Boom!! Winning. They are practically dry before we’ve even found a cubicle.

So now we have to get them dressed, the eldest is not so bad, it’s mainly the littlest one who is confined to the shelf.

So the littlest one HATES lying down for his nappy to go on, to limit screaming I put his nappy on whilst he stands up, fine until he lurches in a different direction to where I’m trying to put his nappy on, then he attempts to try and scale my upper body to get even closer to my face than he ready is, all while I’m trying to force small defiant limbs into vests and joggers.

In a bid to make the changing process quicker I’ve undressed and wrapped myself in a towel hoping to be dry once I’ve finished wrestling a small mound of wriggly flesh….cue towel slipping off and standing butt naked all while still wrestling with said small child.

“Look mummy’s big bottom”

Cheers son, just what I wanted shouted in the changing rooms.

Anyway so now I’m stood starkers putting on the littlest one’s socks and shoes, he’s spotted a rogue boob swinging about and is attempting to grab a nipple, pincer like pinch and I’m muffling a squeal.

“Wiggle wiggle” as I feel two little hands jiggle my bottom and slap my thighs- the two year old has escaped and is roaming free and is slapping my cold bare slightly damp arse.

The littlest one has now pulled off one shoe and sock and is sucking on said sock whilst I groan, give up and attempt to dress myself.

Now this requires the fastest of dressing as my youngest has decided he wants to explore what’s over the side of his containment shelf. One arm is out creating a barrier whilst the other hand is attempted to loop knickers round my ankles and pull them up one handed, next is the skinny jeans….slight damp legs and skinny jeans DO NOT mix. I attempt to use my own body as a barrier to stop my one year old from toppling over the edge of the baby change which results in me bent over wrestling on my jeans with a one year old attempting to crawl onto my back.

Two year old comes over whilst I’m bent over “oooh mummy’s boobies” and swings them about. I feel abused right now and disgusted that my boobs “swing” so much – like spaniels ears in the wind just flapping about – damn you breastfeeding!!!

Once I’ve finally wiggled into my jeans I’ve just the last hurdle, putting my top on. This will require not having my eyes on either child for a few seconds – doesn’t help when I try to push my head through the arm of my top. As soon as I poke my head through I am greeted by my one year old lurching towards me with a soggy sock in his mouth and he grapples round my neck. I forget my own socks and just throw my boots barefoot whilst being mid strangle and forced to eat a sock that has been pushed into my face.

As I throw everything into the bag and scurry out of the cubicle I observe in envy women who are blow drying and brushing their hair and touching up their makeup, I on the otherhand literally look like I’ve been dragged upstream as hair is still plastered to my forehead. I have a small child under one arm who’s adamant that he wants to look at the floor and a two year old running on ahead amongst the sea of bodies millingvabout as I carry the bag of wet swim stuff and towels, I quickly realise I’m feeling a little “swingy” and realise the “ears” are free and I am bra less…well at least I have my knickers on!

Just your usual trip to the pool. #alwaystheglamourmum
#spanieleartits

The pincher of nipples.

Pass me my cape – I’m supermum today.

So in theory going on a Centre Parcs holiday should be a little less stressful than trying to negotiate planes, airports, transfers, lost luggage scenarios but today’s antics have completely disproved that theory.

Now I am an organised person, in fact you could say I border on being a little bit anally retentive when it comes to being organised for going away.

I had my online shopping ordered and scheduled for delivery for Saturday evening, giving me chance to get last minute bits on Sunday if required. Meals had been planned, laundry washed and ironed, outfits coordinated and planned for each day including spare outfits in case of spills/poonamis. I had a case for clothes, bag for toiletries, box of toys and books, swim bag was packed. I had it covered.

The only thing that needed to be done this morning was put the chilled food and toiletries in the car, wipe the sides down and mop the floor – outfits were laid out last night so once breakfast had been smeared all over the boys they just had to be wiped down and changed, plonked in the car and off we go.

Did that happen?

Did it bollocks!!!!

Four hours behind schedule, unpacking one car and repacking into another we are finally on our way. I’ve even succumbed to peer pressure from dear hubby and I’m shoving a Big Mac into my face.

So what has caused such a delay to a well organised plan….

Children going wild??? nope

Bad night with the boys??? nope

Forgetting something vitally important??? Erm of course not!!

No it was our trusty family car that had decided the day before out of nowhere to suddenly not start. Ah just needs a jump start, call out breakdown….jump starts car, hubby goes off for half and hour or more to charge the battery. I go to do a couple of errands later on. …car still won’t start, call breakdown out again!!
This time it’s 8pm on a Sunday night, I’ve spent all day running around like a mad woman trying to get everything together so we have a quick smooth start to our journey the next day and now the car still won’t start.

Mechanic comes out, he’s slightly baffled, jump starts car, informs hubby to leave the engine running for thirty minutes. His advice, set alarm for 6.30am if it doesn’t start call breakdown again and hopefully the next mechanic can change the battery for a new one.

Did the car start this morning???

Obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t be prattling on about it now. So cue a stressed hubby who’s now ringing car garages, trying to think of a plan B as all our stuff will NOT fit in my little Citroën C3, not with two car seats and two adults.  “We will have to hire a car” he suggests, quick Google and that plan is out of the window, no cars available until Wednesday – shit!!
“call your sister and see if she can divert here” I had already preempted my sister that I may call on her but seeing as it would be a 4 hour diversion, then another two hours driving to centre parcs, I wanted to avoid that if I could…but she was on standby.

Then a thought hit me, my moment to shine came. “What about the roof box in the garden??” I suggested. “Let’s see if we can get that to fit”

So off I trudged, baby in one arm, roof box bar in the other and off I went, yep that’s right this super mum pulled out the leaf covered, spider and slug infested roof box, wiped it down and fitted it to the car, whilst simultaneously juggling a small child who was adamant he was not leaving mummy’s side

(said nice clean outfit had now been ruined both his and mine). But who cares I found a solution to our shitty problem, now all we needed to do was get the “family” car into the garage and dogs to the kennels and we were finally onto a winner. Fortunately this supermum called upon the powers of another and she too donned her cape and came to rescue as she escorted dear hubby around whilst I packed eveything into my little car, tidied the house AGAIN. Finally there was light at the end of the tunnel.

So here we are four hours behind schedule in my tiny little C3 bombing down the A50 with roof box packed, the littlest one sleeping in the back and a Maccies on my knee.

Think I deserve my glass of bubbles tonight, in the meantime the boys couldn’t care less what’s gone on this morning, the eldest has even donned his “cool hat” and is munching on his fries – don’t judge this is his first McDonald’s!

Now where can I hang my cape? This supermum is now on holiday!!

T’was the night before New Years

T’was the night before New Years, the end of another year,

A house full of laughter and memories filled with cheer.

2015 a year of adventures and so much more,

Our family was completed with another one to make four.

Another prem baby who didn’t want to wait,

Born early February at ten to eight.

The battle with breastfeeding had very quickly begun,

A rabid boob shark nursing with the rise and fall of the sun.

Three months it took, to finally feel right,

Through growth spurts, sore nipples and all through the night.

Life soon became interesting with juggling two kids,

We struggled some days to not completely flip our lids.

The wanting, the needing, everything mummy NOW!

Running around manically on little sleep…how???

Coordinated naptime used to make me feel smug,

Now you’ll find me passed out exhausted on the living room rug.

Battling every mealtime, bath and bedtime too,

Sometimes seemed a doddle compared to a synchronised poo.

The months quickly passed and personalities began to appear,

Yet the littlest is still only happy when mummy is near.

Some days are just so magical, wonderful and great,

Others are mind numbing and for bedtime I can’t wait.

Sometimes I’m bowled over by the TV’s hypnotic power,

Others I’m bored senseless hour after hour,

From Frozen to Lion King to Beauty and the Beast,

To Ratatouille, now Stickman what a viewing treat.

Auto parent you’ve helped us, you’ve helped us our friend,

But hours of Peppa?!?! Is there really no end?

To play dates at home and baking many a cake,

To classes we went and friends we did make.

Sharing stories of anguish and havoc the kids made,

Kept me feeling normal as my sanity was saved.

You see having kids can be mental and can send you quite mad,

But amongst the crazy there’s great fun to be had.

Yes I’ve had moments where I’ve shouted and cried,

I’ve said I don’t like them but believe me I lied.

Amongst the neediness and tantrums – that’s just the start,

I love these monsters deeply with all of my heart.

With every poonami that leaked from a nappy,

Came giggles and smiles from a baby who was happy.

With every tantrum, screaming and shouting NO!

Came a toddling tornado with love he has to show.

So 2015 what a fun filled year we’ve had,

But another year is upon, time flies – it’s mad!

As the bottles of champers line up out the door,

There’s just enough time to crack open one more.

Let’s raise a glass and toast to what we have done,

We’ve survived some hard times but overall we’ve had fun.

Here’s to another year, I wonder what’s in store?

Our crawler will be walking and so very much more.

Here’s to more sleepless nights, tantrums, tears and teeth,

I seriously cannot wait for some magical relief.

And although I love you both and that love runs deep,

I have just one New Years wish and that is for some sleep.

No matter how hard some days may be,

Our life with us four is so much better than three.

So happy New Year one and all, cheers and chink chink

Fill up my glass ‘cos after this year, man I need a drink!!

 

Christmas is coming…woooooo

Aaah I’m getting excited, I’m starting to get into the festive spirit, the presents for the boys have been bought, the festive menu has been planned and I’m itching to get us all into our Christmas jumpers.

I’ve always been one to get all excited about birthdays and Christmas, unfortunately I have been disappointed in the past when things haven’t quite lived up to my magical expectation but now I have both boys I’m hoping in the years to come my excitement will match theirs and the household will just EXPLODE with festive excitement.

In preparation for forthcoming festivities I have scoured the Christmas activities and planned every weekend running up to the big day with something Christmassy, there’s lantern walks, musical reindeer shows, storytimes with Santa, snowdome’s,  Christmas parties and anything else I can squeeze in. This week has even had its festive activity where a group of local mum’s got together and decorated festive plates ready to be placed by the fire for the big man himself on Christmas eve. It was too early in the day to be mulling over mugs of (mulled) wine but we were treated to the sumptuously velvety delights of crock pot hot chocolate. Oh.my.god!!! Hot chocolate heaven. A woman after my own heart 😉

So now my calendar is almost full and gifts are nearly bought it’s time to decide what “theme” to go for this year. I like to have a coordinated “look” with the tree (oh god I need to schedule getting the real tree) and the gift wrapping. Don’t think for a moment I have any kind of magazine style decor going on, my house won’t be dripping in garlands or homemade wreaths (not this year anyway) but I do like to have a colour scheme going on….I need to scour the stores for some wrapping paper ideas before I decide which decorations go up on the tree.

I think with all this excitement I need to remember that although I may be getting all carried away and starting to prance around with festive cheer not everyone is going to share my enthusiasm, and not every one will think about Christmas in the same way. I’m not trying to sound ungrateful but I like to choose gifts for a reason or that have a purpose (and make sure they are wrapped all pretty with ribbons and bows), I’m not a massive fan of buying gifts for gifts sake….in fact I really don’t like receiving crap for the sake of having something giftwrapped….and my face says it all….

I would much rather have a small gift that has a reason behind it (it doesmt have to be a deep meaningful reason) as opposed to lots of stuff for stuff’s sake. My mum is a prime example of this. I understand her thought process in that she’s trying to create this magical mountain of presents to be opened on Christmas day, but receiving giftwrapped bags of pasta and marshmallows, tubs of normal hot chocolate and spaghetti spoons just doesn’t really fill me festive cheer ( I sound really ungrateful don’t I?). Think I need to work on my #giftface

Anyway I’m digressing, back to all things jolly and bright. I’m eagerly awaiting for the start of December when I can legitimately put up the decorations and we can sit down and watch The Holiday and Love Actually all snuggled up by the fire or sat wrapping presents with a glass of mulled wine.

What’s more exciting about Christmas are the traditions we will make with the boys, the things we “must” do, the little things that make our Christmas ours. No doubt I will be receiving some random gifts that I have no intention  of ever using and may actually rewrap and give back the following year but it’s not about me and what I want (sssh don’t say that to hubby, he can still get me nice pressies) it’s about the boys and seeing their excitement and sharing their happiness and making things special for them. Christmas is about family and this year we have our complete family, all four of us…and the dogs…and the cat.

I literally cannot wait!!

 

 

 

 

Golden goddess or sweaty sea sloth

So here’s what I have learnt or had reaffirmed since arriving to sunny Spain. I am not a beach goddess….I do not even resemble a smidgen of a beach goddess. I do not emerge out of the sea Halle Berry style all toned, golden and glamorous in my swimming attire, I splutter and stumble as I attempt to wade out of the waters only to be knocked over by a wave. I do not possess sun kissed tousled tresses I am lucky if I haven’t got a complete nest on my head from where my hat has been never mind the salty sweaty dread like knots that form over the course of the day. I do not turn golden brown whilst away in sunnier climates instead I transition throughout various shades of white with patchwork red patches that may end up tanned if I am lucky. I enviously gaze upon the slender golden bodies strewn around me as if I had stumbled across a beach of swimwear models. I stick out like a sore thumb.

It’s not just on the beaches I am out of place, generally sunny climates do not suit me. I am not evolved enough to withstand such beautiful places, any hint of a mosquito and I erupt into volcanic sized itchy mounds. As soon as one of the little bastards has a nibble I become a walking buffet for all things bitey. Don’t get me wrong I love exploring new holiday destinations, I get immense pleasure from gazing across the horizon and hearing the waves crash against the rocks….I am just not made for these places.

I am convinced whenever I turn up to a beach or pool there is a pert bottomed, firm boobied golden beach babe just waiting to elegantly lay herself in the close vicinity to where I lie. If I didn’t feel self conscious enough, seeing this envious sight makes me feel like a albino beached whale or a sweaty sea sloth.

I thought I had done well recently by starting running. I marvelled at how svelte my thighs were starting to look, cellulite finally smoothing out, muscle definition starting to show, I had even lost a few inches here, there and everywhere…..as soon as I touched down into Barcelona and felt the first waft of heat all that hard work seem to dissappear as I started to swell in the 30 degree heat…yep just like bridges and roads in summer I also expand with heat, what were dainty little feet are now swollen flippers morphing into my cankles, my slightly flatter mum tum had now exploded into full on 5 month pregnant belly.

But you know what my babies don’t care what mummy looks like. My husband still says I look beautiful (he’s learnt to say the right things) and even comments that said golden goddess isn’t actually pretty and her boobs are fake (he’s a keeper) so I shall embrace my wibbly beach body and just enjoy the time away with my family however all photos will be of my shoulders or above…this figure is not being documented, in fact I will just take the photos of everyone else and tag myself in them afterwards just to let people know I did actually go on a holiday and it’s not just a documented wondrous week of fun and laughter had by all my boys.

Maybe its time to no longer give a shit, there will always be someone skinnier, prettier, dressed better blah blah blah I can’t waste precious moments worrying about what I look like when I have my boys shouting for mummy to play, look for fish, build sandcastles, jump in the pool etc.

Now is the time to sit back, relax, enjoy the view and make memories with my family. I will be back home before I know it and I will have to get back into the running…uh!!Maybe I should have another beer.

The dreaded beach holiday

I am not for one moment being ungrateful about going on a holiday, in fact I’m very grateful that we are able to indulge in such a luxury especially since maternity pay has properly kicked in (boo) and for the first four years of my relationship with hubby we could only dream of being able to go away on holidays.

What I am dreading is being somewhere so warm that minimal clothing is required….in fact swim wear will be worn for the majority of the time. This is what I am dreading. Having had two babies in two years, my figure is far from the ‘fat body’ I had pre babies…..man I yearn for that fat body now. Why did I spend so much time worrying about my figure then????

So I have a three week countdown and I’m panicking….I’ve radically cut my chocolate consumption and upped my steps per day. I have switched cheese and ham toasties for superfood salads and quinoa and I have even entered the world of running….I say running what I actually mean is a fast walk/limp along as I attempt to strap anything that moves down with sportswear. I thought I had done well to find a sports bra that contained the wild milk beasts that are my boobs but nothing prepared me for seeing my belly bounce up and down when I ran, I was mortified, the boobs – motionless, the belly – well let’s just say it’s now been firmly tucked into very tight running pants that have been pulled up high Simon Cowell style.

I am not going to claim that I am fit in any sense, I excuse various parts of my body for its size with the main excuse that it was built for stability not for beauty…nor the catwalk, but I do like to think I can go the distance…at a slow tortoise like pace. My first run proved me wrong, it is safe to say that I cannot go the distance, in fact I probably got about a km down the road before my half arsed running became a floppy walk as I was dragging my feet along but I have not been deterred because last week I attempted my second proper run and I RAN 2.5km. Yes that’s right people I ran the whole way. I now feel like an Olympic champion and I was severely disappointed when there wasn’t a medal waiting for me at home. Following on from my successful actual run I have had a few more accomplishments this past week.

Following my 2.5km I wanted to up my efforts and this is what I achieved on my second proper run.

Just did a 5km whoop whoop check my bad wobbly ass out 🙂

This was HARD!!! Attempted this 2 days after the 5km and it was a hard one but I did it.

So scrumptious jammy doughnuts you will no longer taunt me and whisper sweet delicious nothings in my ear…yes I want you but my tankini is awaiting and I do not wish to lurk in the shadows whilst on holiday. Nor do I wish to repulse the slim and beautiful as I waddle my pasty jelly belly around so for the next three weeks I shall continue this quest for a slightly lesser jiggly belly and potentially have thighs that don’t rub as much as they do now as I do not wish to bulk buy lubricants so I can wear shorts in the beautiful Spanish sunshine. Maybe…just maybe I will attempt to keep this up once I return from sunnier climates. I do have a growing pile of skinny jeans in the bottom of my wardrobe that ‘could’ be worn once again albeit with a pair of spanx as I don’t think I will ever truly contain the jiggle.

Best get munching some quinoa….uh oh just spotted a cream doughnut in the fridge, time to start the hourly battle with my conscience  – why does it have to talk so much sense?!?!? Damn you conscience and your wise words.