This is possibly the best review I’ve ever done. Seriously.

The Zebra Beastie Egg is, officially, a kids Easter egg from Hotel Chocolat. I say “officially” because, officially, my own kid didn’t actually get to try it.

I know, I am a terrible mother.

The thing is, she has SO much chocolate lined up for Easter already. Plus, we had my in-laws to stay who very much needed a chocolate fix. And… well, there was no other chocolate in the house. Like I said, terrible mother.

In the name of research, I cracked open the (very pretty) packaging and scoffed a big piece delicately tasted a morsel which was rather delicious.

It came with some little mini eggs, all with different gooey centres. Mmmmm.

I’ve never tasted Hotel Chocolat chocolate before, always shunning it in favour of a cheaper option. The thing is, now I’ve tasted the good stuff, I’m not sure the cheaper option will ever really match up.

The chocolate was creamy, with a lovely crispness to the hollow big egg. The mini eggs oozed a heavenly filling of either praline or caramel, depending on which you chose.

I’d like to say we took our time over the review, licking a piece of chocolate here and sniffing an egg there, but that would be a lie. The whole lot was gone within 5 minutes. This total chocolate carnage left the four adults responsible feeling satisfied and guilty. Just the right side of guilt, mind you.

Although my toddler didn’t taste the egg, I know she’d love it. Why? Because she is her mother’s daughter. A chocolate FIEND.

***

Disclosure: I was sent this product for the purpose of this review. For more details, please see my Disclosure page.

The post The one in which I admit I ate my child’s chocolate appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

She proved just how grown-up she’s becoming by insisting on taking her own bag, purse and baby to the shop in her quest for chocolate this afternoon. As well as the pram she pushed all the way there, she had a card to post in the postbox. She took her responsibilities incredibly seriously, even asking me to put her hair into bunches so she could impress any passers-by who might stop to chat.

As she strode on ahead of me, I couldn’t help but smile. My two year old has been an independent soul from the moment she was born, refusing to drink her milk from anywhere other than its source and screaming at the sight of a spoon she couldn’t hold herself.

She’s always wanted to do things her own way and been very clear about what that way is. So you can imagine her satisfaction at pushing her own pram, with her own babies, holding her own bag and her own purse, all the way to the shops.

She was in her element.

As I watched her wonky little feet place firmly on the ground, I could hardly remember this time last year, when she had to walk holding both my hands to keep from falling over.

Sometimes the frustrated independence of a toddler is draining, especially when they realise they can’t do the task they’ve set out to complete. But today it was refreshing. A small trip to the village shop was enough to count as an adventure in my daughter’s eyes, when she realised she’d be allowed to take her pram for the first time ever.

Oh to be two again.

The post A toddler shopping trip appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

My beautiful girl.

How on earth did you get so big? You’re all long and lanky now, just like your dad. Your gorgeous skinny legs – although far too flexible – remind me of a dangly scarecrow. Not much different to the day you were born, really.

This day two years ago, we looked at you as you slept in your clear plastic bed, discussing your frog-like feet and scarecrow limbs. Love hit us like a bullet.

I just want to kiss those legs. Especially when they’re bare, running naked in the garden on a hot sunny day. You hate it when I grab you for a kiss though. You laugh, “No Mummy!”. Then you’ll give in and submit to “The Mummy Love”, letting me give you a cuddle for a split second, before batting me away to continue with your game.

You’re a fierce, independent, stubborn, cheeky, loud little spirit now.

You have tantrums. Regularly. You like food, drawing with crayons (often on the furniture), talking on the phone to your Mar Mar and splashing in the bath.

You also like “CAKE!” and “CHOC CHOC!”. This often causes problems, especially when you decide to express your heartfelt love for said treats in the middle of the vegetable aisle in Sainsburys.

But, I must admit, I love to see you devour a cheeky cupcake or chocolate button. Your excitement is on a par with mine over a glass of wine on a Friday evening.

This is you a year ago, at your 1st birthday party. You’re covered in cake after having a food fight with BB, the little girl you met through my blog. BB belongs to Northern Mum and she’s also rather partial to a spot of chocolate.

Look at you. Beautiful girl.

We’ve had a quite a year.

You were bridesmaid to Daddy and I when we got married last August. You cried during the ceremony, but then had quite a time on the bouncy castle and enjoyed clapping and cheering during the speeches. You’re a born performer and love to be part of the action.

You also rather like your own company and become engrossed in drawing pictures, sorting shapes or doing jigsaw puzzles.

You are such a girl. You brush your doll’s hair (named Euan, after your friend at the childminder’s) and paint crayon onto your eyelids, no doubt copying me doing my make-up. I caught you trying on my heels the other day, while you dangled one of my bras on your head. When I laughed, you reached up and dabbed some of my deodrant on your armpits.

You’re a happy child, now. This wasn’t really the case six months ago.

You wanted to walk, you see. But your hypermobile joints and flat feet wouldn’t let you. We were all very worried. No one knew what was wrong with you, just that something was, indeed, wrong.

I was told you wouldn’t walk without help. You clearly thought, sod that, and couldn’t be bothered to wait for your turn on the ever-long NHS waiting list. You’re yet to receive your special boots and physio treatment, but you’ve defied them all and now walk everywhere.

I’m so proud of you.

You’re unlikely to realise how deeply felt even just one spec of my love is for you, little girl. The understanding of how it often roots me to the spot, unable to move, is not something you’ll comprehend any time soon.

It burrows deep, down through my feet, twisting into the earth so that at times I have to simply stand and catch my breath, just to look at you. This love that I feel for you, it can’t be measured. It’s impossible.

But you’ll know one day, little Frog.

When you’re a mum, you’ll know.

Happy birthday my beautiful girl. I love you.

Mummy xxx

The post An open letter to my daughter, on her birthday appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The post Silent Sunday appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

For me, this is the best thing about being a mum. It’s those moments of pure glee, when your child does something that makes you laugh, or accepts a cuddle willingly.

I have to remind myself of this fact today, after a difficult afternoon with a grumpy baby. Generally, I would be able to handle the tantrums, but they become a little more tricky when you’ve been up since 3.45am.

We’re all getting used to the new routine that comes with my new job, Frog included.  This means tempers can become slightly frayed by 4pm, when all I want to do is sleep and all Frog wants to do is wreck the house / climb everywhere / put her fingers in plug sockets.

But these moments - when her face is covered in chocolate, or she learns a new word, or crawls over to give me a cuddle… Well, these moments make the harder ones all the more bearable.

What about you?

The post What’s your best thing about being a mum? appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

This visitor makes me stressed, causes arguments between myself and my husband and winds up my daughter a treat.

This visitor picks one moment during Every. Single. Day to wave their hands and shout “Cooeeee, I’m over here!” before taunting my soon-to-be 18 month old with a big fat raspberry.This causes tears and shouts of indignation on her part, followed by angry grumbles from the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and protective snarls from me.

Every time this visitor gives my daughter a present, quite understandably my greedy child wants another. But this mean visitor withholds said present until the following day. Which causes anger, frustration and lots and lots of noise.

And then the same sorry episode is repeated at promptly the same time the next day. And every day after that.

But not for much longer. No Siree.

I’m sick of the visitor.

The visitor has to go…

The post A bad house guest appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The post Silent Sunday appeared first on Mother's Always Right.