This is a picture of the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I, approximately two weeks before I gave birth to our daughter, four years ago. What you can’t see in this picture is my massive pregnant belly, slightly swollen feet and big under-eye bags. It was taken in the garden of our former local pub, where we used to live in Berkshire.

This picture makes me smile, not because it’s an example of amazing photography (it isn’t), or because it was a lovely sunny day, or even because it captures a special memory of a rose-tinted time pre-parenthood.

No, it makes me smile because it shows in all its badly-photographed glory how I win Partner Points (or “PPs”) in our marriage. 

Note the items at the front of this picture: a bottle of cider, the building in the background – an outside barbecue grill where you could buy very tasty burgers. Now note my husband’s happy expression. He’s content, pint in hand, burger being cooked and sun in the sky. That day I won a couple of PPs because, despite the lovely setting and the sunshine, I would rather have stayed in the cool indoors, swollen feet on the sofa, watching re-runs of Come Dine with Me.

But it’s give and take isn’t it? When you love someone, sometimes you put your own wishes to one side and do something you’d rather not do. Like go to the pub on a sunny day (I know, I’m probably not selling my Saint-like status very well here).

And it goes two ways. Like the time my husband watched The Notebook with me despite saying it was making him feel physically sick. Or the time he came to Wembley with me and my sister to watch Take That’s Circus tour, despite the fact he’s more of a heavy rock fan.

PPs can be won in other ways too – making a cup of tea without being prompted, bringing a punnet of fresh strawberries back from the supermarket because you know their your partner’s favourite, spending half an hour ironing shirts because it’s the one job your man or woman absolutely hates doing.

Recently I have been stocking up on PPs…

This is a hamper of chocolate from Thorntons, sent to the NLM to celebrate Father’s Day.

He likes chocolate, especially on a Friday evening after a couple of beers. He also likes opening presents, so this is going to go down very well.

With a huge array of different chocolates to choose from – from dark to milk to white to truffles to more milk and more dark and fruity ones and nutty ones – my PPs are going to keep ratcheting up for quite a long time.

Of course, like all good partners, I will smile sweetly at his elation and say, “Oh, it was nothing”, while I note down the exact tally of PPs I have accrued against his current total.

And making a mental note of the number of times he will have to watch The Notebook with me to make things even.

How do you win Partner Points in your relationship?

***

Thank you to Thorntons for gifting the NLM this Father’s Day and making my steady accumulation of Partner Points possible. 

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The first time I ever kissed the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine it was by a toilet, in a sticky-carpeted nightclub in the romantic hotspot that is Reading. Later, he warned me he wasn’t the “slushy” type, because “Where I’m from – in Rochdale – we aren’t like that.”

Two years later we welcomed our baby girl into the world and a year after that we got married.

That will be three years ago this summer but, in many ways, it feels like much longer. We’ve been through lots together in the past three years: saving up for a house, moving 200 miles to another part of the UK, buying a house, working hard in different jobs, getting pregnant with baby number two.

Throughout it all the NLM has continued to support me in his undemonstrative, quiet way. He doesn’t do big romantic gestures – for Valentine’s Day one year I got a Brita water filter and a pair of slippers. He rarely holds my hand in public and I know he *hates* it when I go all “slushy” on him. Instead, he does banter, cups of tea and regularly buys me family-sized bags of salt and vinegar Kettle Chips.

I recently mentioned in passing that I fancied a “proper burger” for tea on Friday night. He spent the next week diligently researching recipes online, watching YouTube tutorials and even discussing the matter at great length with work colleagues. He came home that Friday night with a fancy gadget he’d borrowed from a friend and a bunch of paper with scribbled notes on it – he’d been trying to work out how to make the top secret sauce that makes fast food burgers so tasty. It was the best burger I’d ever tasted.

We don’t tend to go in big for things like Father’s Day in this house. A home-made card is usually as far as it goes and, perhaps, a bottle of the NLM’s favourite vintage cider. But this year is a bit special. The NLM has gone above and beyond, often working 65+ hours a week in his job as a teacher, then coming home to take on dad duties while I rest my tired, pregnant feet.

We’re a team, and our nearly-four year old often complains that she misses Daddy when she gets home from pre-school and finds he isn’t here. She always greets him with a huge grin and a “HI DAAAAAAAAD!” as soon as he walks through the door.

So, rather than just do the hastily scribbled card this year, we’re going to give the NLM a few little presents too. We were sent some goodies from the website Getting Personal which I know the NLM will love. As a computer geek (he devours computer games like I devour books) this mug is a sure hit:

The hidden (personalised) image appears when the mug is filled with hot water. Pretty cool, huh?!

Then there’s the slate cheeseboard (I could never have married a man who didn’t like cheese), the personalised pint glass, extra large bowl and posh coffee. There’s also a key finder to stop the NLM constantly losing his car keys but it is well hidden for the time being as it keeps going off!

Once ordered, the gifts arrived within a few days and each one is exactly what I’d hoped it would be. There are a trillion other things I could have chosen from the site too, but those will have to wait until next year.

Of course the NLM doesn’t read my blog (“Why do I want to read about us? I’m in the house every day, I know what goes on here!”) and he only recently set up a Facebook account which he never goes on, so I’m pretty sure the surprise won’t be ruined.

In the meantime, has anyone got any good burger recipes? I think I may need to return the favour and cook him a gourmet burger for a special Father’s Day tea…

***

Disclosure: The products featured in this post were sent to me for the purpose of review. 

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Last week proved to be the biggest test to my marriage yet. Forget childbirth, newborn babies and living without a dishwasher. This was far, far worse.

We battled through it and came out the other side, I’d like to say stronger than before, but that’s debatable. Here are the lessons I learned during the testing period that was our first ever major DIY project together. A period covering four days of blood, sweat and tears. Literally.

1) My husband thinks I am like my mother

It turns out that jumping out of bed at 6.30am with a motivating, “WE CAN DO THIS! COME ON! TEAMWORK!” isn’t the way to inspire my husband. Apparently my irritating early morning chirpiness and enthusiasm for Getting A Job Done is, “Just like my mother”. Not a bad thing if you ask me…

2) Suggesting that my husband is lacking in willpower and determination is not the quickest way to his heart

Comments like, “Come on, we can do this, don’t give up now,” don’t go down well with a grumpy husband who is sick of the sight of his hammer. Even if he’s only two hours into a four day job.

3) The kitchen is no sanctuary when DIY meltdown is in full flow

Wondering aloud if Nick Knowles and co. let their DIY work space become disorganised and messy is a one-way road to Argument City.

4) Washi tape is not a precious commodity in my husband’s eyes

It’s perfectly acceptable to use Washi tape as a marker, bonding material or tool to avoid paint smudges, according to my husband. Any other use for this pretty tape is just frivolous and “airy fairy”. Apparently.

5) My husband would rather write a full set of reports, plan a fortnight’s worth of lessons and teach his most demanding class for a triple period, than sand a floor ever again. Ever. 

It turns out my husband has an undying love of the carpets in all the other rooms in our house and has no wish to lift them and sand another floor. Ever. (“Ever, ever, ever, ever.”)

Can’t wait until the next job: Re-wallpapering the hallway. *Jolly face*

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I know it was taken at 10pm, because my husband happily posed for the photograph, which means he had consumed around five pints of beer and was feeling co-operative. Apparently his Northern roots don’t allow for selfies. 

On Friday night the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I ventured into the cold for a rare night out, just the two of us. We were up in Rochdale, the NLM’s birth place, so his parents kindly offered to babysit. Rochdale isn’t the first place that springs to mind when I conjure up romantic images in my head, but Paris was off the cards and, to be honest, when you get out as little as I do then anywhere sounds appealing.

Our night out was courtesy of Head & Shoulders who gave us £100 to spend together, after a 15 minute coaching session with relationship coach Matthew Hussey.

It turns out £100 goes far in Rochdale.

The tapas restaurant – The Rake in Littleborough if you’re ever near – was brilliant. We ate prawns in garlic (you don’t need to worry about garlic breath when you’ve been married 2 years) and chargrilled sardines, along with Halloumi and some fancy chorizo dish. Oh and olives – of course. And calamari. And bread. Actually, there was so much food I had to undo the top button of my jeans to allow for breathing room. Sexy.

We washed it all down with Spanish beer and Prosecco. It felt positively decadent to be sitting in a restaurant on a Friday night, leisurely eating and drinking, without having to get up to go to the loo with a young child every ten minutes or worrying about getting back for bedtime.

The thing is, the bill only came to £60. So, obviously, the answer was to go to the pub down the road to spend the rest of the cash. That’s where things became slightly less romantic, although no less fun.

Black peas and cider were being served outside in the garden area, which made the NLM instantly excited about being reacquainted with his Northern roots.

We drank some more and chatted and laughed and generally had a brilliant time. It reminded me how important it is to spend time together away from computers and the stresses of daily life – even if it’s just to sit on the sofa on a Friday night and watch a film together. We made a pact to keep weekends free to do more stuff together, rather than let work or chores take over every space of our life.

I tried to remember the points that Matthew Hussey made during our pre-date chat, to compliment my husband and bring something interesting to the evening to talk about. Next time I will remember not to make Gary Barlow my specialist subject or to compliment the hair of a man who has none. Other than that, we found lots to talk about that didn’t revolve around work, money or our child. I call that a win.

The exhaustion the following day was a good reminder for us both of how long we’ve actually been together and how much we’ve changed since we first met. Time was, we would go out partying until the small hours and still feel breezy enough to do it the following evening. Those days are well and truly gone now.

And no, I can’t still walk in heels.

***

Disclosure: A huge thank you to Head & Shoulders who provided me with £100 for the night out, and to Tots100 who arranged it. Thank you also to Matthew Hussey who gave me some fantastic pre-date advice, even if I didn’t follow it to the letter. 

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Photo credit: CP Photography

This is us, just over two years ago.

I married the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine at the end of August in 2011. It was an incredible day. We had fizz and sunshine, bunting and good food. There was dancing and we were surrounded by all the people we love. It was everything a good wedding should be.

And then started married life.

When you get married, it’s easy to get caught up in the fairytale of the “forever after”. We were under no illusions to the reality of what happens after the wedding though, having already survived 14 months of parenthood while scrimping and saving for our future as a family. Even so, the excitement of the wedding day left everything with a cupcake rosey glaze for a while. Somehow the 6am starts and dirty nappies even looked pretty.

Six months later we had our first proper row. It was horrible. There was shouting and tears – from both sides – and afterwards I felt spent. It was how I imagine you’d feel if you did a marathon, without the wobbly legs.

Living together as a couple, juggling work and parenting and emptying the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom and putting the bins out and cooking tea and remembering to buy milk and… all the other stuff that goes with daily life, isn’t always easy. In the beginning, you’re consumed with interest for this person. You want to be with them ALL THE TIME. They make you laugh, have funny stories to tell, are so “in tune” with you. It’s sick-making really. But that’s how the beginning of our relationship was. When dirty nappies and work deadlines and stale milk enter the equation, the romantic stuff can get pushed to one side. All you’re left with is another person making demands on your time. Time that you don’t have.

In the two years since we got married we have been to that place. I hate that I’m writing this right now, as it doesn’t fit the beautiful hazy pink-tinted picture of married life that we’re sold in the magazines. After the wedding you’re meant to skip off into the sunset, raise beautiful babies and still have time to do your hair and cook freshly baked cakes every day. But anyone with half a brain can see that’s not possible. Even gleeful couples who never argue and bake fresh cakes daily still have to put the bins out. Bins aren’t romantic.

I really believe that you have to go through tricky times to appreciate the good ones. I still love the NLM as much now as I ever did. More so in fact. He works blooming hard, he makes me laugh, he’s totally non-judgmental about pretty much everything, he is always there to listen if I need him, I know he’s absolutely on my side (even when he leaves wet towels on the floor). But we don’t get to spend much time together these days. Work and life have a habit of getting in the way, making it easy to forget how much we enjoy each other’s company.

Photo credit: CP Photography

Friday nights have, for the past 18 months, been our night. We crack open the wine, turn on the music and have a chat. It’s our time to unwind and catch up with each other. We rarely go out because babysitters and budgets don’t always allow for it. But, recently, even Friday nights have been swallowed up. The NLM is so tired after a week in his new job he retreats to the office to unwind on his own, leaving me to get on with work on my laptop. It’s a recipe for disaster, relationship-wise. And we know we need to make more of an effort to make time for each other.

That’s why I literally yelped with excitement when an email landed in my inbox inviting me to have a 15 minute session with a relationship coach before a date with my husband. The email offered me £100 to spend on an activity of our choice, courtesy of the team at Head & Shoulders. It challenged me to find a way to feel good about myself again and spend some one-to-one time with the NLM in a setting that’s not strewn with kids’ toys and discarded shoes.

The concept of a “date night” is a bit alien to me. And when I chatted with coach Matthew Hussey I was relieved to hear him say the same thing. We spoke about how time together as a couple shouldn’t just be put aside to one night a month – or whenever – and that showing your partner you care about them needs to be an ongoing thing. Of course, my husband being the man he is, when I later offered him an unexpected compliment (as Matthew suggested) his response was “What are you after?” He’s never been a particularly romantic, gushy type.

Anyway, our date is to a restaurant and then, possibly, to a pub. I’ve got a new skirt and am even going to dust off my super high heels. The NLM tells me he has a shirt, clean pants and some nice after shave.

I’ll let you know how it goes….

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Photo Credit: CP Photography

It seems hard to believe that I became a wife two years ago today. So much has happened since our wedding day, but it still feels like it was only last week.

I can remember that day with such clarity; the excitement and anticipation when I woke up in the morning, the lump of emotion that caught in my throat when I put on the wedding dress my mum had made, the look on my dad’s face when he gave his speech.

The thing is, a wedding is about so much more than one day. Our wedding day itself couldn’t have been more perfect, but it’s the last two years being married which have counted for more than any flowers or pretty dresses.

We’d already faced our toughest test before we said our vows two years ago today: becoming parents. The bone-crushing exhaustion of a new baby, the sheer terror that you’re going to do it all wrong, the elation and nerves and panic of those early days were all behind us.

That said, I think I’ve learned a few things over the past two years. We’ve faced other challenges and, I have no doubt, have many more to follow.

Here’s what I’ve learned in two years of marriage:

You never stop getting to know each other

Even if you know someone so well you can predict how they’ll finish a sentence, the truth is that there is always something new to find out. I’m still discovering funny stories the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine has yet to share with me, bands I never knew he liked, food that he hasn’t cooked for me yet.

In fact, because people change all the time and discover new things about themselves, it means that, as a couple, there are always new things to learn about each other.

The irritating things don’t go away

Wet towels on the floor, stubble in the sink, forgetfulness, losing his keys… the NLM still manages to irritate me in all the ways he always has. The irritating things don’t end when you become married, you just find better ways of not letting them get under your skin. Most of the time.

If you don’t listen to each other, it won’t work

I can count on one hand the number of full-blown, huge rows the NLM and I have had. Our different temperaments mean we tend to rub along quite nicely without massive arguments erupting. Of course we bicker – we’re normal like that – but raised voices and tearful rows are extremely rare.

On the few occasions when those have happened it’s always, always been down to a lack of communication. Either the NLM hasn’t listened to me, I haven’t listened to him, or we’ve both just failed to tell the other one how we’re feeling and expected each other to be psychic.

A sense of humour is still THE most important thing for us

I was first drawn to the NLM because he made me laugh. And he still does, every day. (He makes me scowl too – but often because he’s managed to make me laugh when I’m trying to be cross about something.) As long as he continues to make me laugh, and I him, then I think we’ll be OK.

Photo credit: CP Photography

Photo credit: CP Photography

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We have a deep connection, my husband and I. We discuss the truth of life often and have been known to talk deep into the night about philosophy and the cosmos.

The same is true of car journeys.

Because we are connected on a higher level, sharing an understanding of things above and beyond the minutae of daily life, we don’t talk about the humdrum things while driving to a destination. Talk of traffic jams and idiotic drivers and delays due to neverending roadworks do not concern us.

No, instead we have chats like the one we shared today, on the way to a family meal in our nearby town.

Me: Everyone at work was laughing at me last week, because I said I’d happily break my leg for thirty thousand pounds.

NLM: Oh yeah? I reckon that’s fair enough. Thirty grand is a lot of money. I’d break my leg for thirty grand too.

Me (nodding vigorously): Yeah. You understand me.

NLM: Definitely. In fact, I’d staple body parts to a chair for thirty thousand pounds. My own I mean.

Me: Wow, really? I don’t know if I’d do that…

NLM (with a new light shining in his eyes): Hmmmm. I’d eat stuff too. For thirty grand, I mean.

Me: Like what?

NLM: Oh you know. Non-food stuff. Gross stuff. For thirty grand. I think I’d do pretty much anything that wouldn’t jeopardise our relationship or kill me.

Me: I’m not sure about eating stuff though. That’s actually really disgusting. Are we talking excretions? Like actual contents of a nappy, for example?

NLM: Uh huh. For thirty grand. I’d even eat the nappy itself. That’d sort our mortgage deposit out right there wouldn’t it? I mean, you’ve got to haven’t you. It’s for the good of our family. You’ve got to just suck it up and think of the money.

Me: Guess so. Still don’t think I’d eat stuff though. Not sure if I could do it.

NLM: Yeah well. We’re all different.

Told you. The intellectual nature of our discussion knows no bounds.

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How much can happen in a year. On this day, one year ago, I was doing this:

It’s been an eventful year. We’ve dealt with Frog’s walking issues, battled my new odd working hours and crammed in holidays, family days out and a trip to Cuba.

Now bring on the next one.

Happy anniversary. Pass the bubbles.

***

All photographs by Caroline Gue of CP Photography. She’s bloody talented that woman.

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Me. Changing my name.

I changed my name recently – getting married can do that to you. The thing is, I keep forgetting.

There’s nothing like being unable to place your own name to make other people think you’re an idiot.  It doesn’t help when you forget your address in the same sentence. Bloody forms. Why do they always need your name and address anyway? Stupid passports. You’d have thought a terribly unflattering picture would be enough.

Anyway, when I married the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine I decided not to follow my new husband’s suggestion and call myself Mrs Northern Love Machine. Instead I took his actual name: Weaver.

This is a problem for two reasons. The first is that I harbour secret hopes of one day producing a sister for Frog and “Eva” is one of my favourite names. While the NLM thinks “Eva Weaver” has a certain ring to it, I have to disagree.

The second problem is that I rather like my maiden name. I like the way it gives me an opportunity after a couple of glasses of wine to lie to people about my family’s huge wealth. “Oh ‘Forbes’, yes that’s us. We’ve got the magazine, the castle, everything. We’re stinking rich.” *ahem*

I’ve also grown rather attached to my old name. Molly Forbes is who I am. It’s who I’ve been since the day I was born. Molly Weaver sounds like someone else.

So I’ve decided to keep my old name, sort of. I’ll stay Molly Forbes for work purposes, so the name matches the one on my portfolio of cuttings and demo tapes. But I’ll be Molly Weaver at home. It means I get to have a secret Weaver-related identity. And it also means I get to have the same name as my daughter and husband, without giving up the old one completely.

Is that a cop out though?Am I sitting on the surname fence here? What’s in a name anyway? I’d love to know what you think.

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