Tag Archives: single mum

Mothers Day

I’m going to say what I’m pretty sure most of us Mums really want for Mothers Day. What we want, but rarely get, especially when the kids are younger. What most mums won’t admit to, what we want, what we really, really want, is time away from the kids. Time not having to clean up after, organise and feed our beloved children. Time to do something we want to do without disruption, let our hair down, be pampered or party, whatever takes your fancy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys to bits, but if Mothers Day is about spoiling Mum, then surely we should get what we actually want, rather than some household appliance, dressing gown or slippers. 
Well……I don’t mean to brag, but,  that’s exactly what I got this weekend. My Mothers Day started early. It started yesterday. I had a wonderful afternoon yesterday, paintballing with my new, albeit second hand marker. (Never thought I’d be an owner of a gun!) I mean who wouldn’t want to celebrate Mother’s Day by being shot over and over again, coming home bruised and battered?? I love it! 


That was followed on by a night of football festivities with my other crazy non related family, drinking, eating pizza, playing games, singing, dancing, laughing and watching football. Playing  “Never have I ever” induced fits of laughter that had me in tears. I love being treated like one of the guys. We had an epic game of twister, during which my flexibility and contortionism was put to the test and was finally outmatched by 2 tactical geniuses. I would post photos, but what happens on a boys night, stays at the boys night……. unless they post shameless photos and videos on Facebook. 

Then went to bed for an uninterrupted sleep until 9am. Absolute heaven.

This morning I headed back home to see and pick up my boys for lunch at my sister’s house. I gave my Mum her present and card, and was really chuffed she like the card I got her. Love that we have the same sense of humour. 


 We had a delicious family lunch with my Mum, sister and her boys. After lunch we played pie face, an awesome game if you don’t mind getting covered in cream. 


After lunch the kids played whilst us girls chatted. We then chilled in the couch to watch a Trolls with the kids. It was just a lovely way to end a great weekend.

So thanks to both my families. Best Mothers Day ever!

Thanks Mum, Brook, Dean and Adam, for a great day today and my other family Jon, Jack, and Paul, with honourable mention to Alfie, the other Jack and Lucas for last nights Shenanigans. 

An epic battle lost. 

An an epic battle occurred in my household this week, something akin to Rhonda Rousey taking a beating from Holly Holmes. I was the one who ended up worse for wear. My worthy opponent was left unscathed.

Let me set the scene……

I had come home from a very long nightshift, to find my son had cleaned the house! That in itself was a wonder, I thought the heavens would open and a choir of angels would sing Hallelujah! The dishes were done, the bedrooms and living rooms tidied, the floors vacuumed. I was in complete shock. I knew he’d done it to get his pocket money, but usually that’s not enough incentive do it, obviously he’s completely skint. After singing his praises, and transferring the aforementioned money into his bank account, I took the boys to school. Upon my return, I slipped off my Birkenstocks, cracked a cold Coke Zero and cooked my self some toast. 
With tomato on toast and a Coke Zero in hands, I made my to my very much loved couch. A few steps from my destination, I slipped on what I later realised was spray and wipe which my son had used to clean up his spilt coco pops and milk, on the tiles. Instead of attempting to break my fall with my hands, like a normal person, I instinctively tried to save my Coke and toast (you may now realise how I prioritise my food over my own welfare) I successfully saved both toast and Coke, whilst face crashed into the arm of my beloved couch. It may have brought a tear to my eye at the time, but wasn’t overly painful. So I sat myself down with feet up and enjoyed my breakfast prior to getting to bed, in child free peace.

Upon waking I realised my eye was sore. I attributed it to my being run down and sleep deprived from nightshift and I thought I had developed a sty in my eye. I shrugged it off and pottered around the house preparing dinner, ironing my uniform etc before hitting the shower to get ready for work. It was until I was in the bathroom that I saw what was causing my eye to be sore….. I had a black eye! It looked hideous, just on my right side underneath my eye, but hideous all the same. I thought about attempting to hide it, but after consulting my Facebook family, I owned it and walked into work as if I’d lost a fight to a worthy opponent.

My colleagues took great delight in regaling stories of my foray into UFC cage fighting, to anyone that would enquire about my injuries. My patients stole awkward glances at me, obviously thinking I was a victim of domestic abuse, until I explained my woeful story, luckily it gave them all a laugh. (I don’t think anyone really appreciates the lengths I go to, to make my patients laugh)

 My son apologised, for leaving unwiped spray and wipe on the floor, but as I said to him, I’d much rather a black eye than to have to do housework whilst doing my nights…… so thanks Dean xxx

Turning 40

So….. I made it, I’ve hit the big 4-0. The world didn’t end and I don’t feel any different, other than being tired after having a big weekend of parties, family dinners, paintballing, watching football and having sick kids at home. I really don’t know what the big fuss about turning 40 is all about. No one treats me any differently, I don’t feel any older or indeed wiser. In fact, I don’t think I need that hip replacement just yet and I’ve cancelled my nursing home placement. My kids still need me…… especially when I’m indisposed on the toilet or trying to catch a few minutes of shut eye. I still have meals to prepare and bills to pay. I still have to go to work tonight and take the kids to school in the morning. 
In fact there may be only one thing to fear from getting older…… my tolerance for rude and judgmental people seems to be disappearing. I fear that my tolerance is decreasing quicker than my age is increasing. I may end up a very cantankerous old woman by the ripe old age of 41! So sorry boys ?
So thanks to all those who got me to 40, thanks to those who celebrated with me (albeit whilst I was already asleep) and thanks to all those who will put up with me being a 40 plus something cranky woman. 

Friends

Friends, I don’t have a huge circle of friends that I socialise with. I have work friends, that I see at work, and occasionally go out with, I have church friends, that have been really supportive when I needed it and I have a few really close friends that really, know me….I mean really know me. The friends that know my secrets, seen me at my best and at my worst, held me when I cried and made me laugh when I needed it. Friends that don’t pity me, or my situation, friends that I can rely upon when I need them. Friends that I might not see in years, but it feels exactly the same when we finally catch up again. These small group of friends come from all walks of life, I’ve met them through work, university, Facebook groups and RSVP of all places. After this big weekend, and an even bigger roller coaster of a year, I’m so thankful to such amazing friends. So thank you all xxx

Missing the kids

How is it we can miss the children terribly when they are not with us, but within 10 minutes of them coming home you wonder why you missed them at all?My house has gone from a clean, tidy, peaceful oasis, to looking like the aftermath of tsunami, smelling of teenage boys (akin to road kill left in the sun for a week) and with Adam making the noise which sounds very much like the old television test pattern sound. Why didn’t I appreciate the peace, the cleanliness, the order, the smells of my coconut and mango diffuser?? 
Why? Because I’m a mum. As mums, we feel a little lost when our kids aren’t with us. We are so used to putting them first. I don’t know if this will change when then they grow up and leave home (if I should be so lucky) It’s okay when I’m working, because I’m busy, I’ve got a purpose. But when I’m off work and the boys are at their Dads, I feel like a ship without and anchor. It doesn’t help that I work shift work and not all my friends can socialise on a Thursday in the middle of the day, to distract me. They have “normal” jobs. So I generally clean, wash and iron, watch Netflix and catch up on sleep. But I feel like a part of me is missing. So I count down the hours until they come home. I’m ecstatic when I pick them up from school and all the way home……. then it all begins again. The the cleaning up, the deodorising, the running around and the wishing I could just have a moments peace. 

A Mum raising boys on your own.

Sometimes I wish there was a manual, some sort of guide that comes with your baby home from hospital. A book you can turn to when they don’t stop screaming for hours on end, or when they’re having a meltdown because you cut their toast the wrong way. A book with all the answers. But there’s not, well not one with the answers I needed. 

My boys are teenagers now, I think I’ve done alright. Well, they’re still alive, so that’s a start. 

Along with the usual problems of raising “normal” (I use that phrase loosely) my youngest son has autism. There is a huge spectrum when it comes to autism. Adam’s somewhere in the middle. He can’t talk and generally refuses to use a communication device at home. He doesn’t always understand verbal commands, which can be frustrating for both parties. I’m lucky though, because he has a very cheeky sense of humour and generally gets along with most people. (As long as they don’t interrupt his iPad viewing)

I feel as parents you’re expected to be perfect. Be a Mum and take care of the kids, whilst balancing work, exercise and all of our other responsibilities. Be the parent  that organise play dates, invites the whole class to Birthday parties, enrol the kids in after school sports, be the mum that cuts oranges for the team etc. (if you are, fantastic) but I’m not that mum. Having shared care of the kids, both parents working shift work and having a child with autism has put constraints on what I can and can’t do. I felt guilty about that for a long time. But since I’ve seen what well adjusted young men my boys are turning into, I don’t feel bad anymore. They’ve survived, are respectful and are kind and caring. What more could I want?

Boys are so different from girls, and for that I’m thankful. Not nearly as moody, I don’t have to hear them whinge about what this girl said or what that girl did. It’s gone a lot smoother than I thought it would. But I honestly wasn’t prepared for  how smelly teenage boys get. I mean, what’s with that? Not only do they go through that pimply awkward looking stage, but they smell so bad no girl would go near them! I struggled with it, no amount of lynx can fix that. My house is littered with cans of glen 20 and smelly candles and still the stench permeates everything. I’m embarrassed to admit that I can be often heard yelling at the boys as we leave the house “have you put deodorant on?” I’ve also resorted to keeping air freshener in the car, for those hotter days and when my charming boys decide to hotbox their Mother in the car!

I’ve come to accept that I’m not the conventional Mum (if such a thing exists)

My eldest is always telling me, “Mum, you’re more like a Dad”. At first I was offended, and got him to explain. Apparently not many mums do mud obstacle events, go camping, and go paintballing and wrestling to the death matches. So now I wear the title of being like a Dad,  like a badge of honour. 

So what I’m trying to say in a rambling fashion, is that there is no guide. The rules change all the time and not every child is the same. Not every situation is the same. Don’t be too hard on yourself. If you’re raising boys on your own, as long as their fed and watered and kept active, you’ll do alright.

AND stock up on air freshener for those teenage years.