Wednesday 28 March 2012

Five Things I Am Going To Teach My Daughter

There is no way I am going to pussyfoot around when she's pregnant. I will tell her all the stories that I've heard plus what happened to me. Especially with her birth - no pain relief, I moo'd like a cow and poo'd like, well, a cow. None of this "It's natural just go with it" crap. And I will also tell her that you DO NOT FORGET - in fact I know that when I've got trapped wind it's nothing like the pain of those contractions. Oh and her younger brother's head got stuck in such a way that for about ten minutes I was a human with a human head hanging out of my punani with my husband looking on and wondering how he was ever going to have sex with me again.

With this ability, women will want to be her friend. Plus men will want to get in her pants when she's had one too many. And hell, when I'm crippled with old age she can rig up my IV with her great tasting G&T.

Any girl with a husband and/or children knows that it is very important to be able to tell white lies. I'm talkin' the kind of lies that get you out of trouble - and if this includes a WHOPPER then so be it. It is essential, especially if she shares a bank account with her husband or she becomes a Stay At Home Mum, to always be able to explain where the new frock came from and why her hair is suddenly coloured & cut. Various visits to Cafe Rouge, Starbucks and Costa also need to be explained away in such a manner that her partner can't tell she is fibbing. There must also be a white lie ready for when she doesn't fancy the special love but needs an excuse.

Ya know, once she gets older this is going to be almost a daily routine for her. And I need somebody to sort me out when I'm in the old folks home or if I lapse into a coma. This routine may also include nipple hair.

This is one of the most important life skills. I'm hoping that she sleeps with many people before she gets married but unfortunately some of those people will be the result of her great G&T (see above). So she needs to know how to fake a big one. Or a little one. And even multiples. Because let's face it, men can't tell the difference. And if Meg Ryan can do it, then the offspring of an EXPERT (me) certainly can.

What important skills are you wanting to pass onto your children?

Tuesday 27 March 2012

Vote For Me!

Somehow I've been nominated for a BritMums Brilliance In Blogging Award. I can't believe it because I'm a lazy fecker when it comes to my blog. But I'm hoping somewhere out there Quality might overrule Quantity - at least I'm telling myself this.
Now I don't really like asking for anything. I've had a couple of days of panic about asking you guys to vote for me. This is the conversation with my husband:
Me: "I don't want to ask anyone."
My Husband: "Oh grow up. You've got to be in it to win it."
Me: "But it's hassle for people."
My Husband: "Well, you snooze you lose." well as exposing him as a WANKER, I'm asking you to vote for me in the LAUGH category. I'm Number Ten: Ministry Of Mum, if you can be arsed.
I'm also hoping it will get the exposure I need to get me a job as a crime show corpse - hell, you never know where an agent might be looking. I've also heard that Gwynnie Paltrow is shortlisted, the FECKER. And I rarely ask you to do anything, but let's face it...I'm sometimes funny and this could get me on a crime show as a corpse and that's all I want. Well, I also want to see a real unicorn, visit Japan, eat Walkers Crisps without getting fat and spank Kevin Spacey.
I'm not much for contests and I don't plan to be in the future, but your support so far has been brilliant and I even blogged today. And after this I'm not doing any contests for a LONG FECKING TIME. The self promotion makes me feel like a cat, saying "Hello" by sticking my bum in your face. Meh! But if you can.
I'm also really hoping that it gives me a new excuse to do NOTHING all day. Like I used to say "But I've just had a baby". I can now say "But I'm shortlisted for an award" and that's why I've not cleaned or cooked dinner or bought goddamn milk.
So here's the link and I'll also post a badge as soon as I've got my head round the technology. I'm Number Ten in the LAUGH category - Ministry Of Mum:

BiB: Brilliance in Bloggin

Co-Sleeping For Cash

My eldest son is always trying to have a sleepover in our room. In fact recently he's been offering money in return for me letting him come in. Tonight it was £50 which was his best offer yet so I've totally accepted it. My husband had a bit of a moan until I explained to him that our son has about £2000 in the bank so it's a good way to get our hands on his money. It's possibly legal too. And, you know, I need a potential source of income since I'm surviving on child benefit and husband hand outs and DAMN IT this diva needs a new summer wardrobe. A little loss of sleep is no price to pay for a few new frocks. I totally see it as a perfect supply/demand situation where everyone's a winner. He gets the sleepover and I get his cash.
Unfortunately none of this applies to the toddler. Poor third child has about £3.50 in his bank account, the grandparents being less generous as they realised that the constant supply of grandchildren could, infact, bleed them dry. And I think they got bored by the third christening which is not surprising because I totally did. Anyway, the toddler has a very high demand when it comes to sleeping in our room. He comes in every goddamn night and I get nothing in return except a kick in the head and two inches of the bed. On most nights I wake up mid sleep cycle, gripping the edge of the bed like it's the final handhold above an Everest crevice. On one hand, there are few pleasures that rank as high as snuggling up with a warm bodied little one but on the other hand a person, about a third of your size and weight, successfully completes a hostile takeover of the bed. But it's always handy if your husband has that special love twinkle in his eye. You know what though, I wouldn't mind at all if the toddler offered me the same deal as his older brother.
This won't work on my daughter - she cares not for cuddles.Which at the moment I'm thankful for as she has chickenpox. I don't fancy getting smeared with calomine lotion nor do I want to lie in a bed full of poxy scabs. However this has not deterred her from nicking money from my wallet which she's doing on a weekly basis. Last week it was a quid, this week it was a fiver. So I'm thinking that any monies I earn from my son's sleepovers are just going to end up in her pocket. Although the other night she did offer me £10 to leave her room. I'm seeing another potential source of income here.
In fact, to hell with it. I'm just going to make a Mummy Pay Scale where everyone pays me to do shit for them. Pack a lunch £2, brush hair £7 (she's a screamer), co sleep with parents £50 and up. It shouldn't take too long to get that summer wardrobe. Best Idea Ever!

Monday 12 March 2012


I had a relationship, for just over a year, with this woman who was a nurse. She was almost 6ft, obviously taller in heels, blonde and Australian. Stunning, incredibly sexy, and very relaxed about it. We went on a first date and got on well. Sushi and Japanese beer. All good. No dips in the conversation. A little bit of flirting. We said goodbye, kissed, and I put her in a taxi home. I had some work stuff to read so I decided to get the bus home.

At the bus stop I received a text. It went something like: "I have a full day off on Friday. Do you fancy meeting for lunch?" I responded with a yes and suggested somewhere. She responded quickly. The text is carved in my memory like the faces on Mount Rushmore. It read "Great. You'd better not have a large lunch as I want you to eat my pussy for desserts."

Shocked. Yes. I was convinced the whole world could read my face and I'm sure someone in Text Messaging HQ could read this too. This was 2000 and I'd only just got into the world of mobile phones, putting it off for ages and ages, but it was necessary for work, and I just couldn't get excited by them. That soon changed.

The bus arrived. I considered my response which went something like "Wow. Are you always so forward? I'll go for the salad then" I pressed send. And then thought "FUCK! I PROBABLY COME ACROSS AS SOME SEXUAL DEVIANT!"

On the bus journey home I didn't read the work documents I had in my bag. I received sext after sext telling me in great detail exactly what she had planned for Friday. I think she even included some timings, which was good of her.

During the beginning of our relationship she'd send me sex texts, sometimes 20 - 30 a day. I guess it must've been quiet on the wards where she worked. But I did wonder at the time was this a normal thing? The behaviour of a normal person? Was she a little... mentallissimo? It's not exactly the sort of conversation you have with people down the pub so finding out if this is a common thing is hard.

Sex was great. Hot and always pretty intense. But work increased in my life, and her shift patterns soon took a toll on her. Things quietened down a bit. Became less hot. This happens doesn't it? Soon the sexts stopped, and we'd meet to do other things. Cinema, which one or both of us would fall asleep in. Drinks. Where we'd go out and get a bit too drunk. And soon our 5 a day, so to speak, went down to 2 a week, then 2 a fortnight... and, well. You can guess the rest.
I'm no marriage counsellor, oh my days no, but one thing I know. Relationships can suffer through lack of the sexy time. If one partner is up for it and the other is tired, a bit drunk, or prefers watching Danish crime thrillers, or all three, then it's like you're both speaking a different sexual language. A bit like a Brit abroad trying to order some sausage from a delicatessen in Spain. I'm not sure how to get what I want but a lot of pointing and repeating certain words in a loud voice may help. Or if your other half does initiate something and you don't fancy some jiggy jiggy hokey pokey then it's a bit like trying to fight off an overly friendly octopus.

And if this is then followed by a communication breakdown, then problems manifest themselves in other ways. 'I'm not SURE WHY you put the wine glasses there, when we HAVE A PERFECTLY GOOD FUCKING DRAINING BOARD!' 'Why DO YOU NEVER DEAL WITH THE RECYCLING. Ohhh fuck it, I'll just do it myself. As always, as I've done for the past 2 FUCKING YEARS.'

Depending on whether you find your partner attractive or not is always a good sign as to whether or not you can resolve the sexytime dissonance. Sometimes we find our partners physically attractive, but there are other things, if you're not getting it, that make them less attractive. Their inability to find a space in a car park, preferring to dither and drive around for about 10 minutes rather than just get stuck in. 'LOOK - THERE'S ONE OVER THERE. God, you always do this. Spend ages fannying about rather than getting stuck in when you need to.'

Issues of self-esteem play a part. I've never thought of myself as a physically attractive specimen and sometimes this has stopped me from initiating the sexytime, purely because I think to myself, 'Ohh I feel fat/hairy/smelly/depressed/achey/have a cold.' If the other person in the relationship feels the same way then? Someone's gotta take the bull by the horns.

Perhaps sending a sexty texty may help? At 3 in the afternoon when you're sitting with the kids watching Baby Jake? 'I'm thinking about you on me right now' might be one to start the ball rolling. Remind someone you want them and that might help? Dunno. I'm sure there are people who are more qualified to recommend suggestions.

Reassurance is good. You might be slobbing around in your PJ's at 11.00am on a Sunday morning, but the need to feel wanted still remains. How sexy do you feel when someone suggests getting dressed together. Or showering together. Or just taking you by the hand, kissing you, kissing your neck, and saying 'Shall we... go upstairs?' Or do the children prevent this from ever happening to you ever again?

I only ever sent her a sexy text once. I wasn't quite sure how to write such a thing and didn't totally feel comfortable but I'd had a shandy or two down the pub and so I decided to go for it. I wrote something like 'I'm thinking about fucking you, like I did last night'. I pressed send and waited for her response. It seemed to take a while. I was about to check my outbox when my phone bleeped at me. I looked in eagerness. The text is also etched on my memory. It was simply '?????????'. From my boss called Brian. I may have shit myself.

How do you keep the magic alive in your relationship? And I'm not talking rabbits from hats or a bunch of flowers from a bottle. Although if that's your thang then who am I to comment? All and any comments most welcome.

Spencer blogs at:

Sunday 4 March 2012

When Kids Discover Swearing

When I was a kid, I was at the park with my Dad and he was trying to get me to go home. I didn't want to. As he started to yell at me, I told him to "Fuck Off". Well he certainly dragged me home after that. But the funny thing is that I was about 7 years old and I didn't actually know what it meant. But I knew not to use it again because my Dad threatened to wash my mouth out with soap and, well, I didn't want a slab of Imperial Leather in my chops.
Recently I've had to deal with a bit of swearing from my 8 year old. Which of course means that the 6 year old has been getting in on the act too. They are just starting to get their heads round it and have been testing the waters with such gems as "Blooming heck" (I'm Northern, okay?!) and "Bloody damn it!". I've not been too concerned because, believe it or not, I don't actually swear in front of my kids. Oh don't get me wrong, I am an expert at swearing under my breath and I am super professional at swearing through gritted teeth, but not that they can hear above the TV. This is what has happened recently:

1. My daughter comes home after being out with my husband and says "Mummy, what does ducking slow down mean?"
2. My son is monkeying around not cleaning his teeth and when I start shouting he replies "You're just a fucking Mummy". (Which, by the way, is like my favourite story EVER).
3. The Toddler runs around giving everyone the middle finger because his older siblings have told him that it's "funny".
4. My son is moody after school because he's been calling it "squaring" and his mates have been taking the piss out of him.
5. I'm doing rhyming homework with my daughter and she says "Tit" and "Shit" for rhyming with "Bit".

But, you know what, I'm finding it kind of funny. It's a Rite Of Passage. Hell, I'm even going to write it up in their Red Books and if the Health Visitor says anything, well, she can fuck right off.