The Only Girl in the House

Fear of Flying – With Kids

Fear of Flying – With Kids

For the last week or so, people have kindly been questioning if I’m looking forward to our impending travels, as tomorrow is the day we set off on our first ever family holiday as a septet. Whilst I would usually smile and reply congenially, I’ve found myself being perhaps overly honest with a reply of “NO, I’m fucking dreading it.”. I can’t help but think my answer, along with this blog, is some sort of cry for help – a desire to “talk it out”, to make it all better?!

I’m not sure what part of getting up at 5am with 5 ridiculously excited boys, herding them through Gatwick Airport amidst half-term madness, boarding a jet propelled metal tube rammed with potential onlookers and juggling a toddler on my lap in my solo seat for 3.5 hours, is supposed to be something to look forward to. It’s bad enough trying to contain them in our own home, with plenty of room for movement, a fridge full of food and surrounded by their creature comforts – let alone chucking them to 30k feet with a 250 strong audience and restricted personal space.

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Mum of Boys | Things I Never Knew

Mum of Boys | Things I Never Knew

Last weekend saw me left alone with the boys at home, as Mr Only Girl fled the scene on a work trip – this mini-(anti)-break allowed me some time to fully appreciate the boy-ness that plays out in front of me on a daily basis, but is usually osmosed by Mr Only Girl, so skips past my girly gaze.

I grew up as an only child, with a single mum and attended an all-girls school – my life was officially girly. It was as girly as they came, think fake tan, beauty pageants, high heels and mother/daughter shopping trips galore. Then, in 2006, my life changed – there was nothing that could prepare me for a life with boys – things I never knew existed are now common place in my life. Today, I praise those dirty, noisey little blues for giving me a re-education. They’ve brought endless things into my life that I never really needed, don’t really want – but oddly, really enjoy. Here’s just a few…

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The 14 Month Age Gap

The 14 Month Age Gap

As Casper approaches the 14 month milestone (stop child!!), it seems like a million years ago that at this same stage, with Hugo (now 9) I was due to give birth to #2 (Bruno) any day. Casper is so all consuming, in good and sometimes in not so good ways, it really does seem impossible for me to imagine suddenly having a new born thrown into the mix. Cas and I are only just learning about what makes each other tick. This week in particular, as Cas seems to want/need/get more of my time, I’m often left thinking how the hell did I do it?

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First Days of Summer – Photo Diary

First Days of Summer – Photo Diary

I’m not gonna lie, this week over in mamaland has been hard – Tom Hardy/Vinnie Jones/the heels of my feet pre-pedi kinda hard! With a 12 month old cutting his first molars and a desire to get out in a currently not-quite-toddler safe garden (pre-extension) there’s been a lot of whinging, tantrums, tears and mud coated snot.

This week saw the first day in Casper’s 12 months when I watched the clock for bedtime. I filled with resentment every second that passed beyond 6:15pm when Mr Only Girl didn’t walk through the door in order for me to pass responsibility of small person for a molar-induced-whinge free 5 minutes. So, in the sickeningly positive spirit that everyday starts anew, what do you do when life throws you a shit day with a baby on board? Go out! Go out anywhere, just get out! Things are ultimately better when doused in sunshine – this apparently goes for teething bubbas too, as smiles, giggles and eating resumed in the great outdoors.

It doesn’t take a kaleidascopic imagination to please a little person – a duck pond, a park and his favourite ball are sufficient entertainment to ensure sore gums are forgotten and mummy’s sanity is kept in tact. And who knew, apparently swans quite like stale chilli tortillas…

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Non-Competitive Craziness

Non-Competitive Craziness

Friday just gone saw the annual Fun Run at the boys’ primary school where for the past 5 years (and probably long before our boys attended) has been an obligatory, competitive, cross-country style race. First, second and third, in each year group were congratulated with medals and a certificate handed out in next week’s assembly to rapturous applause from their peers. The “fun” aspect came from the optional fancy dress, however, coming from a sporting (read: dangerously competitive) family our boys always opted out of the “fun” part, choosing instead to do their best to win an “actual medal”. Imagine their disgust this year. after 3 weeks of self-inflicted training, when the PTA email thudded into my inbox informing my mini-competitors that this year’s event wasn’t really a race – everyone would be given a medal for taking part and that they would have to drag a “buddy” from another year group round some shin-bruising obstacles!

Has the world gone mad?!?!

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