Kids and Shopping DON’T mix!

There’s a saying that people in the TV industry like to live by – never work with animals or kids! I think there’s a lot of sayings you can apply to parenthood and I recently found that ‘never go shopping with the kids’ should be right at the top of them.

It was meant to be relaxing family stroll around what was left of the sales at the Trafford Centre but from the moment we got there stress levels had exceeded boiling point and the kids were bored as soon as we walked from the car park!

So, what do you do? Well after the kids inhaled the food supply from my Mary Poppins bag in less than five minutes (club biscuits, crisps, fruit shoots-all gone) the only other thing to try was splitting them up. Husband and daughter go one way – me and my 4-year-old son, the other – trying to give each other half an hour’s grace to browse successfully. Not a bad plan…right??


I had just picked up a well reduced dress that would possibly have turned me from scummy to yummy mummy when my son says the words that have all parents sighing up and down the country.

‘I want a wee!’

His legs start shaking, it’s obviously a race against time to make sure he gets to one.

So, it’s goodbye to the dress and hello to the loos.

Any Mum of a little boy will understand when I say, ‘the aim is always the problem’ and try as I might to get ‘Mr Winky’ pointing down the toilet bowl it was clearly facing upwards. At this point I’m saying to him…

‘Good boy, push Mr Winky down so you can see it go down the hole’

‘But I like Mr Winky spraying’

‘Yes, but it’s a Selfridges toilet sweetheart, just put it down’

And then it happened…

‘I want a pooh’


I’m now squatting down opposite him holding his hand as he sits on the loo trying to push it out. Time is ticking and my precious half hour shopping time is dwindling fast.

Just as the pooh finally drops Mr Winky decides there’s more wee to come…in my direction.

Yes, that’s right, my coat is soaked, my face has sprinkles of wet on it plus he’s also managed to drench his jeans that are down by his ankles (don’t ask).

‘Mummy, Mr Winky was naughty wasn’t he?’

I hear sniggers coming from the cubicles to my left and right.

His wet jeans in my hands I sheepishly leave the cubicle with son behind, realising everyone in the ‘posh loos’ knows what’s just gone on.

My son is now as happy as Larry, I however have realised Mary Poppins has failed to bring the change of clothes in her bag so we spend the next 10 mins at the hand drier as new people come in thinking I am a rubbish Mum for having their kid stand there in his undies.

Dead on the 30 mins being up we emerge from the toilets to meet husband and daughter, grins on their faces and shopping bags in hands.

‘Aw, did you not find anything to buy?’ asks Hubby.

I looked down at my son, back in his jeans, smiling up at me.

‘Don’t ask…’ I say through gritted teeth.

Never. Shopping. With Kids. Again.







Potholes have a lot to answer for…

It’s been one of THOSE DAYS…

It all started off quite well. I’d managed to put my knickers on the right way around and drunk at least half a cup of coffee before it went cold – you could say life was sweet. For once I WAS that Stepford wife, I’d put a wash on before leaving the house and I was taking the terrible twosome (aka the kids) to a play centre as a motherly treat. The sun was even shining, I should’ve known from that omen something was bound to go wrong.

Kids in the car. Check.

Snacks packed to avoid the centre’s overly priced tuck shop. Check.

Drive down the main road. Pothole. F***!!

I hear an almighty clunk and then I panic. ‘What was that Mummy?’ That, my inquisitive 7- year old is a big hefty hole in my purse (that’s what I wanted to say but I took a deep breath and pulled over). Phew, no sign of real damage. Relief.

Stepford Wife is back in the game.

We’ve got Dua Lipa on the stereo (god knows who she is but my little girl seems to know every lyric), and my little boy is happy getting to grips with the Chupa Chups lolly that I know I will regret giving him later.

The play centre was a dream; no nose bleeds, no weeing in the ball pool, and I was only asked once by my 3-year old son to slide down the snake that really wasn’t meant for a 30 something.

I survived. I am invincible. I spoke too soon.

I came out to a FLAT tyre. Not just a FLAT tyre, a totally wrecked one! The good news was we were right next to a Kwik Fit – the bad news was I still had the kids in tow. To be fair I still had snacks to bribe them with and the saviour of an iPad. But then, it happened. Whilst stepping out of the waiting room to inspect the replaced tyre I suddenly heard my name booming over the Tannoy system and the words  “could you come back in, your son is exposing himself in reception”.

Oh. My. God. I ran inside like Paula Radcliffe in need of a wee – and there he was waving his ‘winky’ proudly about, laughing.

He’s got his winky out…in Kwik Fit!!!!

‘Put it away’ I said frantically whilst pulling up his pants.

‘He’s NEVER done that before’ I insisted as the other customers smiled in disbelief.

My daughter was laughing, my son was laughing, I was as red as a beetroot BUT the winky was back in its box. What a day!

So, spare a thought for me next time you swerve to avoid those pesky potholes, thanks to them I’m to be forever known as ‘the woman whose son waved his winky in Kwik Fit’.





Let’s get down to the Nitty Gritty

October has arrived – the month we celebrate Halloween by scaring the living daylights out of each other…cos it’s fun! Well, I guess it’s a good time to admit my worst phobia…the fear that has me waking up in a cold sweat.


Yes, they start out as harmless little dots of eggs on your kids’ hair and become nasty creepy crawlies that just WON’T go AWAY! It’s happened to you hasn’t it? That dreaded moment when your child starts itching their head before bedtime and you freeze in the ‘scream’ pose realising you are going to have to go through the lengthy process of trying to destroy them. It’s basically a case of you or the critters. Inside I mentally put on a white vest (Bruce Willis style) grab the Nitty Gritty comb and shout “Yippie Ki-Yay Mother Lousers!”

But, here’s the fun bit, when you have more than one child the gift just keeps on giving – it’s like a constant game of pass the parcel. One minute you are sat there looking at your kids cuddling each other on the sofa, heads resting side by side, thinking ‘aww how sweet they look’ and the next you are dragging them apart like a mad woman realising there’s a happy louse leaping from one child to the next like an unwanted lodger!

Then there’s the added shame of getting ‘the letter’ from school in your child’s bag – How to get rid of Head Lice. Do they really think that sending you an A5 pamphlet will help? YES school I KNOW my child has nits and YES I’m bloody trying my best to get rid of them. If they want to do something useful then bring back the Nit Nurse, she’d take no prisoners or kids ‘head sore’ protests.

Oh, and then there’s the people who give you advice – who think they are helping but they’re not…

Don’t worry they only like kids who have clean hair.”  – Thanks, I kinda wish I hadn’t washed my kid’s hair since last Christmas now…

Have you tried that lotion from the advert?  – Yes I saw it, I bought it, I’m now £15 down and it didn’t work.

In case you are wondering, here’s what we tried:

  • Nit comb – 3 different types
  • Conditioner and nit comb
  • Every goddam nit solution you can think of (and they don’t come cheap!)
  • Tea tree oil in a spray
  • Oh, and there was a suggestion of frying the blighters with hair straighteners which I wanted to try but did feel a little queasy getting that image out of my head

And then the day finally dawns when you win…your child is ‘NIT-FREE’. You can once again walk the school grounds with your head held high and your childs’ hair not scraped back in a bun. You are victorious! You go to work with a spring in your step, pour a coffee (you can drink without it going cold), and then…it happens…you feel an itch…and another…and another…

Nits The SequelThey’re back and this time they want their revenge!


PS. Mums, don’t have nightmares ; )

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