Still here!

Evening all,

It’s been a while, huh? Apologies for the radio silence, in the month (gasp) since my last blog post, we’ve moved house and things, as you can imagine, have been all kinds of crazy. I have to admit to feeling like I’ve not really had much of any value to say recently and so thought I’d spare you the bullshit fill the gaps posts I could’ve come up with.

But this evening I realised that I’m missing writing. It’s what I do amongst the chaos to try to help work things out in my mind, and I’ve recognised how I need to do that even when times seem a little dark. If anything, that’s when I should do it more. That said, I also realised tonight that I do actually have a couple of things of value/interest to share. One of them involves sprouts. Stay with me…

You ok, hun?

Firstly, I attended a mental health seminar recently, run by the brilliant Lauren Burlinson. I say I attended, I missed the first hour after having a fucking nightmare morning and absolute meltdown. BUT, what the two hours I did make were fantastic. A group of truly inspirational speakers came together to share their stories and advice, as well as some products that have been created off the back of their own personal mental health issues.

One I wanted to mention here is the Positive Planner. I will soon be the recipient of one of these gorgeous journals and I can’t wait to get started with it. Positive Planner co-founder Ali spoke at the event about how she suffered the effects of postnatal depression, and her planner was a result of her trying to work through it. Her story really resonated with me as I often feel overwhelmed and this is a really simple way of helping me keep on top of things, as well as celebrate everything I have achieved each day. Add to that the beautiful bright yellow cover that cherishes the creative pages inside and you’re on to a winner. I mean, just LOOK at it…

I took many things away from that brilliant day, but nothing more so than how much good can come from even the darkest of times. People’s resilience, strength and will to do good and help others, even though they are suffering themselves, gives me such a sense of warmth and hope for the future. It really made me excited for our fundraiser next month and the potential we have to help other families suffering the effects of postnatal anxiety and depression.


Rex is quickly approaching one. First off…What. The. Fuck? Secondly, I think it’s fair to say he’s already a, how shall I put it, wilful child and, boy, does he have tantrums. Up to this point, I’ve not really given discipline and how I’m going to manage these a huge amount of thought. However, over the past few weeks I have found myself raising my voice when he kicks off, which makes absolutely fuck-all difference.

I find it difficult to manage because I don’t know how much he understands, but I often feel I don’t give him enough credit and he knows exactly what he’s doing (little rat). I think what I’m trying to get at here is I don’t want to have a brat as a kid (let’s face it, we all know some), so I’m going to carry on enforcing boundaries now. But is that too early and am I being too hard on him?? Who knows. I guess it’s a very individual choice for each parent, and as always, I haven’t a fucking clue what I’m doing.

I’ll leave you with a discipline story from my childhood. I was chatting to my Mum about this recently and she got upset, which really surprised me as it’s something my sister and I often reminisce and laugh about. But Mum finds it upsetting because she thinks my dad was too hard on me, but, like Eamo and I have, they made a pact never to question each other infront of the kids. Anyway, here’s sprout-gate (and Mum, I love you. Please don’t be upset about this, at no point did or have I ever felt traumatised by it :)).

I hate sprouts. I always have. The smell, the texture, ergh, the taste – they are, without a doubt, the devil’s food. My Mum and I realised this when I was a kid, and so she never used to subject me to them (thanks Ma). I think part of this may well have been down the fact that I needed no encouragement in the wind department, if you know what I mean, and, well, you’ve smelt sprouts, right?

Anyway, one day Mum was having a wobbler because we’d all got to the stage where we wanted different things to eat. My sister had decided she was a veggie for a bit and anything other than turkey dinosaurs, smiley faces and beans was a huge disappointment on my part. So my old dear, to her credit, used to end up cooking about four different meals each night to please us all. At the time I couldn’t see the problem, now I totally understand why she lost her shit on this one particular occasion. Informing us only one meal would be cooked, we all had the same, which meant we all had sprouts.

My mum was in a piss, so I’m sure my dad got it in the neck, which meant we did too. I refused to eat my sprouts. But my old man wasn’t having any of it.

“I am going to give you one minute to eat all of those sprouts, otherwise you are going to your bedroom’.

Hmm, this was quite the dilemma. I did not want to go to my room, but I also did not want to eat what seemed like a billion fucking sprouts. My sister by this point was loving life, she can eat sprouts by the bucket load so was in the clear, and she knew I was basically headed upstairs for the rest of the evening. He set the timer and off I went. I spent the next 60 seconds cramming overcooked (sorry Mum) sprouts in to my mouth, trying to clear them off my plate. I was gagging, crying and laughing all at the same time. At the end of the minute, I had cleared my plate but had hamster-like cheeks full of gross-tasting vegetables.

I still got sent to my room.

It was at that moment that I realised that my old man was a bit of a dick. And that only got worse as the years went on.

I can see why it upsets my Mum. It didn’t actually teach me anything, other than the fact that my old man was a fucking moron. Now I’m older and a mum myself, I can fully appreciate the annoyance of having to cook multiple meals to keep everyone happy, but I would’ve realised that without having a plate of veg forced down my throat. I think the point of my story is, I can understand discipline if there is a method behind it. I mean, by subjecting a child to something, discipline-wise, are they going to learn from it? And if not, is there any point? Any big, long debate, I’m sure.

But I’d like to publicly thank my Mum for bollocking my Dad after (she told me this way later). And for never making me eat sprouts again 🙂 .

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