Tag: zerotohero

Santa visiting lads…

This year we did a Santa visit for the first time. It’s really the first year that Benji has been aware of the whole Santa and stocking thing and as he’s obsessed with being a ‘good guy’ at the moment – they’ve been covering Police Officers at nursery – this has wrapped up (pun not intended but I’m not apologising) nicely with the whole nice and naughty list thang.

For me, this has brought back a child like excitement about Christmas, I wouldn’t have said I was jaded by Christmas, because I love seeing my family and friends, choosing presents, time off work etc, but after the utter fudging (see, I’m watching my swearing!) debacle that was Christmas 2020, it is so lovely to feel hope and joy and all those festive tingly feelings through the excitement of a child.

As I write, there is still a worry that plans could be affected AGAIN and the very thought of that fills me with dread, but, rest assured, if we end up stuck here alone again, Benji and Jake won’t know any different and we’ll have a lovely family time where me and Lad Dad day drink a bit too much, eat everything in sight (party food!!) and take a thousand pictures just to try to get one nice one.

Back to visiting Santa, as I’ve mentioned before, my boys are both pretty confident but Santa can be scary and I was expecting Benji to be the problem. But nope, this time it was Jake, JAKE who bites everyone (I’m still going to do a biting post one day), shoves little girls over at Gymboree and is absolutely and terrifyingly fearless. He absolutely screamed at Santa, wriggled and fought him and even shoved the present away. I’ve never seen him like that and I got the giggles to be honest, bad mummy.

I’d had visions of a lovely family shot of everyone smiling angelically at Santa that we could treasure for years to come, but no. We got what you see above…. although I actually love this picture of Jake for reasons I can’t understand! And Benji looks nice at least! He likes presents. And he had been promised lunch at the Dobbies cafe after. He’s easily pleased that one.

I think paying to visit Santa might be a relatively new thing, probably nicked from America and monetised, because I don’t remember visiting Santa in that way when I was little myself.

We definitely had one that came to our primary school – identified loudly as my friend’s grandpa or something when I was 9 and had made the logical, but sad decision that Santa couldn’t possibly be real. ‘Why?’ my mum asked me. My answer? Not how can anyone deliver presents that fast or any conclusion that I think other kids come to. For me it was simple. ‘Reindeer can’t fly’. I was sworn to secrecy for my little sister, then became filled with dread that when she did work it out, Santa wouldn’t come anymore. On reflection, I think she knew earlier than she let on but didn’t say for fear of no stocking. Luckily my parents like stockings too and we continued that tradition long into adulthood.

So, to be able to now continue the secret the whole world keeps about Santa for my own children, and share the excitement with Benji (Jake doesn’t really get it but he sure likes pulling things off the Christmas tree), I’m seeing Christmas with fresh eyes this year.

And that’s not just because the way Christmas and New Year fall this year, I get 2 weeks off to explore that day drinking. Promise 😉

Not quite the black death…

I didn’t write a blog last week. Why? We have had a brutal time. BRUTAL. This virus-ridden (not THAT virus) household has been plagued (word intended) with….

  • Hand Foot and Mouth – Jake and Me
  • Impetigo – Jake
  • Conjunctivitis – Lad Dad, Benji but Jake by far the worst (see pic)
  • Vomiting and Diarrohea… Diarohea… Diorrhia…. the shits – Benji and Jake
  • A horrendous and very painful cough that won’t go away? – Benji, Jake and Me (not Covid, I tested!)

This resulted in more pharmacy trips than I can count (pharmacists are awesome but limited on under 2s), one GP appointment which, (and I’m not getting drawn into any further discussion on this sensitive topic), I had to fight for and two trips to Sick Kids, Edinburgh. We have so many creams and drops and ointments I feel like I could open my own chemist.

I will never, ever give my lads Spaghetti Hoops again, I’m not even sure I can look at a can of it again after seeing what it looked and smelled like after regurgitation. I thought it would be gentle on their tummies.

We’ve had to take time off work, or make up hours in the evening after bedtimes, and finding space to just BREATHE has been really hard. Especially as that cough made it hard to actually breathe, and after two kids, required a few crossed legs….

The routine of eye cleaning, cream applying, ointment adding… it seemed endless and was exhausting. The usual 15 minutes to get them ready in the morning was taking 40. We were rushing everywhere and late and work was impacted. We were impacted.

You also feel bad, because you know that even though this feels awful for you, of course there are other parents having it tougher. But when you’re in it, it’s hard to think beyond it.

The whole thing felt so bad at the time, because when you’re in that quick sand, and you’re tired, and you’re overwhelmed and there’s no end in sight… it feels insurmountable and you wonder how you’ll ever cope – but once again you did. Because you have to – when people say you have to take the rough with the smooth, weeks of broken sleeps (that sounds like a song I’m going to need to write now), worry and driving to hospital at night is the rough.

You also miss the Parent Army (previous blog), who normally prop you up during the rough times, because you can’t really see them in case you pass things on. It all felt a bit lonely but at least we had each other.

On the tough parenting days, (not just sickness but in general), my advice to Lad Dad is to always find the joy. Even when Benji is being a total threenager (hate the phrase but it’s a definite thing), he’ll suddenly do a dance or share something with Jake and I catch Lad Dad’s eye and we smile. This is why we signed up and them being sick is just part of that overall shebang.

We’re (hopefully), coming out of it now, and there’s light at the end of the tunnel, and less pink eyes and crustiness everywhere. And less sheet washing.

I promise to write something more positive next time, but honestly, I just needed to get that rant off my chest – hacking cough included.

The Parent Army

It doesn’t take a village – it takes an army.

Something happened recently to a close mum friend. I won’t go into the details of it but it got me thinking about the might of the Parent Army once it is mobilised.

Finding my Parent Army has been an underrated benefit of having a family. I’m 40 now and I guess I thought I was done making friends, I certainly thought I’d only pick up a few choice friends through baby classes and play dates but that we’d grow apart as the kids grew up and went to different nurseries etc.

It’s been quite the opposite.

I now have a network of the most amazing people (mums and dads!) who I rely on for advice, support, bitching and gin when needed. More importantly, I know that if I needed help, and we all do, I would have it. This ranges from the emergency nappy I needed the other day to the knowledge that I would trust them with the lads if, for whatever reason, I had to leave them for a bit. And this is big. Trusting someone with my children. I’d like to think they think the same of me.

Unlike the other great superhero armies, the Parent Army doesn’t need capes, although god knows I’d love an excuse to wear one. And I’m really not sure I can pull off a cat suit though the other mums definitely can! Our uniform is snot trails, milk sick and ‘is it poo or is it chocolate’ brown splodges. We wear mismatched socks, have chaos hair and rock comfy mum shoes – no heels allowed.

Our marching is done with a buggy in front of us and a nappy bag so full of all the crap we need to carry ‘just in case’, that the weight of it would challenge any regular soldier.

If you see us together, desperately drinking coffee before it gets spilt or burns someone, eating a bacon roll that we shouldn’t because, once again, there was no time for breakfast, and comparing horror stories while laughing at who we are now – don’t be afraid of enlisting.

We are welcoming, we are strong and we support each other, no matter what. And if that coffee is sometimes wine, do not judge – unless it’s 9am.

The Parent Army mobilises when it needs to, and it’s always ready. Finding my troops has been an absolute highlight of my life. Parents are not alone, we have each other, and no soldier will be left behind.

Back to work, AKA Leaving the Lads.

Hi, I’m Jake’s mummy… I mean Sarah. Hi, I’m Sarah.
I’ve just returned to work after maternity leave with my second (and last) baby, and I’m constantly fighting the urge to introduce myself as Jake’s mummy, since that’s been my name for the past year. At work, I have to remind myself again that I’m Sarah, somebody who has always worked efficiently and felt confidence in her ability to do her job. Right now, I feel new there. The pandemic has forced my employer to make a lot of changes (not before time, to be honest, and I know they’d agree) so the workplace I’ve come back to is very different to the one I left.

Since I’ve returned to work once before, after my first, Benji (nearly 3 now), I was surprised that this second time around the guilt smacked me unexpectedly in the face like a fast serve from Emma Raducanu. Maybe because pressure from society and the high cost of childcare have left me feeling like I should stop working and take care of my children full-time but… that’s not for me.

It goes without saying that I love my children, but that was never the plan. I still want a career and I don’t want to take time out of it and then struggle to get back in. Maybe that’s selfish – it feels a bit selfish. And that leads to more guilt.

The current problem is that I feel like I am doing two jobs but I’m being average at both of them. I know (think?) I’m a good mother (most of the time) but now when they get home, I’m distracted, because without even trying to, I’ve been drawn straight back into struggling to switch off.  And in the office (or… WFH back at the kitchen table on Teams 70% of the day), I know I’m good at client engagement, but right now, when everything feels strange to me, I don’t know where to begin with picking that up again. And let’s not forget, my brain is mush now. Complete mush. 

I should introduce myself properly, because I’m making that classic mistake of being all my kids this and my kids that. I married what some might consider a little late, in fact, I had honestly come to accept that that was it for me. A single life, very happy and surrounded by family and friends, but no ‘great love of my life’, maybe no kids, or at least the hard decision about whether to go it alone or not.

Then I met James, that story is for another time, but 7 years on, we have two boys. The laaaads as they get called around here. 

I wasn’t expecting boys, I come from a long LONG line of female only generations and both my sisters had girls, but bam, willies! Quite the learning curve as any mother of boys will tell you. I think statistically you are far more likely to get wee in your mouth with boys…. and I have. 

They are a delight, happy and healthy with these amazing characters and smiles that will melt your heart. But they are also awful, they already fight each other – the big lad kicks and pushes while the little one is a biter (again, another story). Meanwhile I try to mediate without getting hurt – because the play can be rough and they’re only going to get bigger which worries me. This is lad motherhood. And I’m ok with that. 

I have started this blog because, even if nobody reads it, and I hope someone does, it’s a creative outlet that I need. It’s not going to be filled with advice, preaching or healthy recipes, it’s just going to be my thoughts, pretty unfiltered. There will potentially be some rants and raves but ultimately I hope to share the humour in it all and express that I genuinely wouldn’t have it any other way.

If my experiences help others feel better about their own, if I make someone laugh, or feel a little less alone in a world where filtered Instagram perfect mummy’s live, then that’s all I really want. 

This is my first attempt, so any feedback is very welcome. 

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