There’s A What In The Kids Room?

There I was wandering around the kids bedroom muttering to myself about the bloody mess that no one else ever clears up when suddenly a smell hits me. Straight up the nostrils.

‘Oh god, there’s something dead in here’ I think eyes darting round the room. Memories of my brother and I finding woodlice and keeping them in a plastic cooker with lumps of mouldy fruit start barging their way into my mind. Of course the poor sods died, no doubt as a direct result of the noxious gases emanating from my brother’s backside. No, I don’t have the foggiest idea why it just seemed like a good thing to do at the time. Then there was the time my Mum looked under my brother’s bed and found an old ham sandwich moving around. It was full of maggots. Good grief that woman can shout. If those ‘thick ears’ she always threatened had come to fruition, my brother would have been sporting one hell of a whopper worthy of any Welsh rugby player.

I found myself sniffing around like some kind of frizzy haired bloodhound. Where is it? Sniff. What is it? Sniff. I feel nauseous. Sniff. The bin. It’s coming from the bin. Phew I’ve found the source. Now to work out why it smells like death. Hang on, I’m sure I’ve smelt it somewhere before. It reminds me of the stink of the mens toilets in the Ritzy nightclub 1996. No you mucky sods I wasn’t in there doing that … I was working as a barmaid and drew the short, very dirty straw.

The bin contains the usual, apple cores old bits of cut up paper and pee. Hang on a bloody minute here. PEE? Why is there pee in the bloody bin for the love of god?! Since I’ve caught her pooing in a Lego storage head before I’ve got a good idea who the prime suspect is. Although she didn’t do it. Honest Mummy. It must have been somebody else. Great, so I have a random person who breaks into my house, pees in the bin and buggers off again. Dirty get.

I expect to find some surprises in the teens room like the plate he swears isn’t in there but I found 3 months on with another species growing from it. Or the time I asked him to tidy up and rather than bring his cups down and wash them he put them in the bin bag which stayed in the middle of his room for a week. Only when I got fed up and picked it up to put it in the bin did I hear the clatter and work out what the lazy sod was up to. But pee-in-the-bin-gate was something else.

I asked my fellow bloggers what unusual/weird/disgusting items they’d found in their kids rooms and this is what they had to say:

Jemma from Mayflower Blogs: Bogies wiped on the walls. I don’t need to say more do I.

Sarah from Boo Roo and Tigger Too: My daughter decided to cover her room in talc once!

Jen from Just Average Jen: My son as a little one smeared poo everywhere numerous times as a sensory thing due to his disabilities, other than that would have to be discovering a bra in there – because he liked the pattern apparently lol!

Tracey from Pack the PJ’s: Fossilised banana skins … yoghurt pots with spoons stuck in them … every kind of wrapper possible …. all behind his bed, pretty much every time I pull the bed out to clean it (and I do it quite often). He’s just disgusting I’m afraid!

Katie from Mummys Diary: A dirty nappy which they had taken off themselves and hidden! Luckily the smell led me to it!

Hannah from Cupcake Mumma: Rock solid cupcake (what a waste..) sticky hairy teaspoons, Barbie legs but no Barbies..anywhere

Beth from Twinderelmo: My son has a cactus that he’s named Steve. He lives on the bookshelf… rather random I have to say!

Carly from Mummy and the chunks: Wet pants that have been hidden down my sons bed or dirty sticky medicine syringes from when they are poorly

Jo from My Monkeys Don’t Sit Still: No word of a lie, this morning I found a very solid dried up, rock hard bundle of broken wrap (as in bread) in my 6 yr old sons room! When I asked why it was there, both boys (the eldest is 9) said they didn’t know why it was there but knew it was!

Hayley from Devon Mama: His dried umbilical cord stump. I can’t actually blame my son, apparently his dad hid it after I tried to bin it. It’s disgusting, and now hidden in a box until I can convince him to give it up

Donna from Bobsys Mum: We’re moving house. The things I’ve found!! I though boggy wall was bad, then I moved the bed! Boggys everywhere!! Also had a bottle of what was once milk and 2 apple cores so far as well as a lot of something sticky. Absolutely no idea what it used to be!!

Emma-Louise from Even Angels Fall: Liquid apples in a bin I had forgotten my son had in his room – absolutely disgusting, especially when the bin dropped and I got the juice all over my foot!

Nicole from The Mum Reviews: I thought I found a small poo in the corner of my toddler’s room yesterday. Upon further inspection, and to my great relief, it turned out to be a piece of modelling clay that had been painstakingly fashioned into a poo-shape.

Zoe from Mummy & Liss: A bottle of milk that had been left down the side of the cot. Yuck. Straight in the bin..

Sarah from Whimsical Mumblings: It wasn’t me, but my mum found a random box in my little sisters room. My sister said it was a present for her….my sister had pooed in a box.

Leyla from This Day I Love: My sister once put raw meat inside a Keeper [if you can remember those] because she thought it was hungry. Our bedroom stank.

Natalie from Plutonium Sox: A whole pack of cotton buds, a plastic Thomas the tank engine, a felt tip and a gro clock – all inside her duvet cover.

And my personal random favourite:

Clare from Emmys Mummy: All the teaspoons and tablespoons from the cutlery drawer. He liked to bang them together and make noise so hid them all so he could do it whenever he wanted!

Have you ever found anything random, disgusting or weird in your kids room?julie-x-2

Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday

Dear Diary 27th April 2017

Date: 27/4/17

Number of times I’ve been called Mum: 4832

Number of fights broken up: 20

Dear Diary…Mum and I went to see the Sister Act Musical in Cardiff Millennium Centre. ‘Twas amazing. At the end there was an explosion of shiny foil pieces showering down on us. It was late when I got home so I crawled into bed in my vest top & bra, only in the morning I woke up with one of the gold pieces in my cleavage and the colour had rubbed off so am now sporting gold boobies. Awesome.

I offered to take the kids out for tea. Anywhere they wanted. They chose Morrison’s cafe?! After work I nipped home to pick them up walked into Morrison’s only to spot Little Lady’s trousers on backwards. Tell the OH off through gritted teeth and he sulked while I scoffed my Macaroni Cheese. Turned out kids eat free with an adult meal so it was £10 for the 4 of us. My kids are a lot of things and now frugal is one of them.

Walked into the kids bedroom to tidy only to find shit on the carpet. WTAF though. Who and why? Little Lady has been known to do it in a Lego storage head before but that was a good while ago when she was potty training. On closer inspection (I get the best jobs) turns out it was not, in fact, shit but blobs of mashed up banana. Since both kids had been moaning they were hungry just before bed (standard) they’d had half a banana each. Only ‘nobody’ did it. That bastard again. My money is on Little Lady though because it was also on her duvet cover. Funny that.

Went to a kids party today. You either love them or hate them. I hate them. Well most of them, some aren’t so bad. This one though was really bad. Not the fault of the Mum who threw it at all but my daughter sat on my lap and refused to move the entire time (apart from to shove chocolate mini rolls in her gob at buffet time) on 2 occasions I tried to strike up conversations with people, on both occasions I was blanked. So there I was stone dead from embarrassment and shunned into the deepest darkest corner of no friend-dom with a clingon, not even Let It Go would shift her. Or the Spider-Man that jumped out of the curtain.  To make it worse I looked even more weird when rescued via messages back and fore from a friend and giggled like a pillock to myself. It’s in those moments you realise that those people really don’t matter. I tried. I failed. I moved on. But there will always be the ones who have your back when you really need it.

Really must remember to empty out the naughty snack rubbish from my car door pocket. Telling the OH I’m eating lots of salad in attempt to lose weight and be healthy isn’t going to wash when he finds 10 Haribo wrappers hidden under the shammy or a Galaxy bar the size of my youngest child in the glove box. Rookie mistake that, am most ashamed of myself.

OH isn’t feeling well. Does he naff off to bed to rest and recuperate? Does he hell. He’d rather stay downstairs sighing and moaning and telling me how much he’s dying. And being grumpy. Good god man just go to bed. I wouldn’t need telling twice I can tell you!


Dear Diary 16th April 2017

Date: 16/4/17

Number of times I’ve been called Mum: 3215

Number of fights broken up: 42

Dear Diary… More and more lately, probably because its half term I’ve been wondering how the pigging hell anyone ever gets anything done once they’re a parent? Every single second of the day someone is calling me. If I walk upstairs you can guarantee someone will call me. I’ve literally just walked away from them, what can possibly have happened in those 12 seconds? Really. Then I forget why I went upstairs in the first place. How am I supposed to look at little lady’s drawing, look at OH’s changing around of a room, shut teens door to stop the stench and look for Xbox controller batteries for little man all at the same time?! I swear they think I can though. And then…and then? When I get a bit hair offish OH says I’m a moody cow. Typical.

The kids have driven me round the twist. They’ve literally hung off my leg all day, surely at 7 and 4 they should be able to find something in that bedroom full of toys to play with without dragging me away from my endless piles of washing? But no.

They’re bored.
They want a drink.
They want something off the shelf.
They want a drink.
They can’t find Lego Batman.
They want a drink.

It’s Easter there’s chocolate everywhere and they can’t find a thing to do. What is going on? I’m sure at their age I was hiding under my bed with a stomach ache having eaten a whole egg in one go and waiting for the inevitable almighty telling off I was ripe for.

I thought today was going to be a day where I had to have one of those awkward conversations with the kids.

“I don’t want to die Mum”

Came from Little Miss in the back of the car. Oh crap, how do I put it? “Well everybody has to….” I started to say.

Little Man: “You won’t die til you’re old. Or get hit by a car.”

Little Man : “Yeah then you’d be squashed dead. All over the road.”

Little Miss: “Look Mum there’s a McDonalds over there, I want a Happy Meal.”

Annnnnd that was the end of that conversation. Think I got out of that one quite nicely thankyou.

I don’t think the kids are all that impressed with my singing capabilities. Dancing round the kitchen to Love is a Battlefield and singing into a tin opener attracted some ‘god you’re embarrassing Mum’ looks. Good job the teen wasn’t there. He would have spontaneously combusted from the absolute shame of having such a saddo for a Mum. Like that time at I went to a work do with Mum and she got up to dance to Status Quo. Always that same cringy dance and air guitar – for the love of god – with Bob the van guy.

OMG the little lady was quiet for a while today. Suspiciously quiet. When I checked there seemed to be nothing untoward going on. Maybe my own paranoia? Nope. Big nope. I should have learned by now to always trust my instinct. On getting her changed for bed, the realisation came that orange felt pen was covering the lower half of her body. Like some sort of half-human half-Oompa Loompa mash up. “Why did you do that?” I asked. “Just wanted to see what it looked like” she said like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. I tried the good old baby wipes. Wouldn’t come off. Tried showering. Wouldn’t come off. Tried alcohol gel. Wouldn’t bloody come off. I’ve resigned myself to having a half orange kid for a while.



The School’s Calling

It’s a phonecall you hate getting, next to Unknown number, seeing the school’s number on your phone screen is terror inducing. All sorts goes through your mind. What’s happened? Who’s hurt? What have they done?

I’ve had various phonecalls in my time and inspired by a conversation with an old friend (who sadly I don’t get to see anymore, life gets in the way) I thought I’d share some of them.

Gone Bananas

There was the time the school called to tell me my eldest had had a slip and fallen on his face. Thinking he’d tripped over someones foot or something – I once broke my wrist when someone stuck their foot out in front of me, you can read about it here – I made my way to the school only to find he’d slipped on a banana skin. I shit you not. I thought this particular mishap was reserved for cartoons and comedians. Apparently not.

Holey Crap

“Could you come to the school please? Your son has a puncture wound” A puncture wound? A PUNCTURE WOUND? “Oh Jesus Christ he’s been stabbed” I screech to the other half. “Right that’s it, I’m going to get him and I’m never, ever letting him go to school again.”

I get to the school where I’m greeted by a stoney faced 6 foot 20 Headmaster. I’m only 5’2 so I already felt like a naughty kid caught professing their love for some scroat or other by permie marker in the bogs. “Where’s my son?” I start to ask before he sits me down to tell me that in fact he hasn’t been stabbed but the dozy sod had actually been climbing trees to retrieve a football and fallen on a metal fence. Cringe. Then he leads me to a very quiet teenager who appears to have taken great interest in his trainers. Out we traipse not saying a word other than to thank the Headmaster for letting me know.  Off to the hospital we drive for a 48245 hour wait in A&E where they ask a million questions – quite rightly – and send him off with a dressing on and a dressing down.

Harry Flopper

“Could you come to nursery please? Your son has had a fall and has a head injury.” There I was with a 3 month old baby clamped to my chest wondering what on earth had happened. I sent the other half to go and get him as I knew he could run faster than my podgy arse could. My son came back with a bandage on his head and an ice pack. I don’t know what I was expecting from a ‘head injury’ but it was worse than I thought. My poor little man had a flipping great big split in his forehead and blood running down his face. Off we drove the hospital where he had glue and steri – strips to stick it all back together. We tried to make light of it being his Harry Potter scar but it’s not so much lightening bolt as big fat rain cloud. When we asked him how he’d done it he told us he was trying a show a girl how fast he could run, couldn’t stop himself in time and ran headfirst into a brick wall. So basically showing off for the ladies, sign of things to come?! Bloody great.

Oh Nuts

“Could you come to the school please? Your son has had a um, knock to the um, private area” “Right, some little shit has kicked our boy in the balls Jon. You better get to the school and sort it” I was at work. Seething into my latte. Waiting impatiently for him to come back and tell me what had gone down. Turns out it was an accidental knock to the nads. He got in the way of a flying foot. They have a tendency to do that feet, especially when attached to a 7 year old boy it seems. All checked over the other half traipses home to resume his game of Fifa. Bugger me if an hour later they weren’t  back on the phone “could you come to the school please? Your son has had a bump to the head” “Jon, get down the school again love, someones tried to cave his skull in this time” all I can hear is the sound of the Xbox controller hitting the deck as he exhales VERY loudly and legs it out the door again. Reporting back the fella tells me he caused his own head injury, not by impressing girls this time but trying to retrieve his pencil and smashing the back of his head on the table on the way back up. No matter how many times you scream “watch your head” at a kid it never, ever sinks in.

Sixth Non-sense

‘We’d like to make an appointment with you to discuss your son’s progress in sixth form.’ says the chirpy receptionist, knowing full well a bollocking is coming my way in the near future. I wasn’t wrong. “we have concerns that maybe sixth form isn’t for him” says the scary teacher sat in front of me. She then goes on to tell me that she doesn’t think it’s the path he’s destined for as I squirm in my chair feeling like I’d rather be ANYWHERE but here. “He really isn’t putting any effort in and we get the feeling there’s a million other things he’d rather be doing (lying in bed being the main one. Probably.) so we think it’s best he revisits his thoughts about his future and let’s us know where we go from here” accompanied by ‘the look’ that makes you feel like a completely useless parent from Knobsville. I really wanted to tell her to shove it up her arse – purely for the look – but I didn’t, I was very adultish. I looked at him, he was very interested in a poster on the wall funnily enough. Think it might have been something about not sharing dirty daps. He blurted out something that vaguely resembled English which I took to mean “I hate sixth form” and so there and then on that day he left. Just like that. I swear she high fived herself. And off we drove back to Knobsville. Via the Jobcentre.

Have you ever been called to the school?


Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday

I Woke Up This Morning

I woke up this morning,
Looked like Ozzy Osbourne.
My hair was well scary,
My mascara left on.

The kids came in screaming,
Over whose toy it is.
All I could think of,
Is “What fresh hell is this?”

I’ll go for a pee now,
With an audience of two.
It’s not even funny,
Someone get me a brew.

Go down to make breakfast
and find the homework.
Dig out my straighteners
to look less like a berk.

Where the hell have the shoes gone,
Always running amok.
They’ve buggered right off now,
Along with one sock.

Leg it out the door fast.
For another school run.
Going nuts on their scooters…
“Please don’t fall on your bum!”

Rock up at the school doors,
With minutes to spare.
It’s started to rain too,
So I mumble a swear.

I lug both the scooters home,
Getting smashed in the shin.
I musn’t throw them in a bush.
Is it too early for gin?

I waltz through the front door,
And fling off my shoes.
I start on the cleaning,
But I’d rather a snooze.

I fill up on coffee,
So I don’t fall asleep.
Get on with the washing,
From this 70ft heap.

I might get 5 minutes,
To sit on my bum.
Before I rush off again,
For another school run.