A hurried dab of make-up (and dodging my daughter’s helpful fingers) later and I was dressed, making breakfast and slurping a cup of tea. And then I was out of the door, on my way to appear on BBC Radio 4′s Woman’s Hour, as you do.

My main concern about the whole thing was finding the unfamiliar BBC studios, 40 odd minutes from where we now live.

With my nose practically touching the car windscreen and my sat-nav turned up full blast, I focused on not getting lost. Not getting lost is a big priority when you’re the kind of person who gets lost regularly, even just going to the local shop. 

Amazingly, I made it to the studios without one wrong turn, but then realised I was embarrassingly early. Attempting to style it out, I moseyed on into the reception where I confidently told the lady I was booked for a slot that morning.

It was only when I looked above her head that I realised she was the receptionist for a chiropractic clinic in the same building. So much for cool. Sitting down, I then noticed my shirt had come unbuttoned to reveal my bright pink bra. Nice.

I sat around for a good half an hour, reading magazines and drinking tea (blissful – I highly recommend getting booked for Woman’s Hour even if it’s just for the excuse to sit down for 30 minutes). Once I was shown into the studio, I was left alone for another 15 minutes.

I was linking up live via ISDN (spot the radio geek) to London, so once the engineer had shown me through to the padded room studio I just sat and twiddled my thumbs for a bit, listening to the soothing tones of Radio 4. I imagined my boisterous diva throwing a tantrum at home, while my frazzled husband wished for the beginning of the school term so he could go back to work. I smiled.

And then I was on. It was all very quick. And fun – very fun. Despite being on the radio every day up until recently, I haven’t lost my enthusiasm for the medium. Plus, it’s Woman’s Hour, you know?

I think it went OK. I had enough texts and tweets afterwards to tell me I managed to speak English and put my words in the right order anyway. Plus (as one of my friends pointed out) I got a mention in for wine pre-11am, which surely wins me some kudos?

Anyway, if you’d like a listen then it’s on iPlayer – 13th August with the wonderful Jenni Murray. I was talking about camping, alongside Pheobe Smith editor of Wanderlust travel magazine and author of Extreme Sleeps: Adventures of a Wild Camper).

We discussed the merits of wild vs mild camping. I was in the wild camping camp, obviously. JOKES. Of course I wasn’t. Pillows and a toilet block all the way for me, thank you very much.

The post Just went on Woman’s Hour, no biggie appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It’s been an incredibly fun, challenging, inspiring, exhausting 18 months – and I don’t regret one second.

Learning to juggle what is effectively two full time jobs (I’m self-employed) alongside motherhood, a relationship with my husband, seeing my friends, drinking wine and waving a wet-wipe at the dust in my house has been – at all times – eye-opening.

I’ve experienced the tiredness that can only come with getting up at 3.45am every morning, commuting 45 minutes to work, coming home, looking after a demanding toddler, working until 10.30pm and doing it all again the next day. And I’ve survived. More than survived actually – I’ve enjoyed it.

People who work in radio often joke that “there’s nothing like radio”. Truth is, when I left my permanent job in radio to go on maternity leave with my little bundle, I didn’t really miss it. I had achieved all the challenges I set myself in that job and I was ready for a new phase in my life.

It wasn’t until I started covering as a freelancer that I caught the (so-called) “radio bug” again. I remembered what it feels like to suddenly look at the clock and realise you’ve spent four hours laughing and chatting without even realising it. I remembered how good it is to make people feel happy, simply by talking about something or playing a tune on the radio. I was hooked again.

It’s a great medium to work in and I’m sure I’ll miss the daily banter and the ridiculous things I got up to while in the studio. But I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to take life at a bit more of a “normal” pace and discover evenings with my husband again.

I’m not saying that’s it for me and radio. The door is not closed. I still love it and I know I’ll go back. I’m lucky enough to have worked as a presenter, journalist, researcher and producer in my career so far, and I know I’ll return to one of these roles again in the future.

But, for now, I’m going to concentrate on my other work projects that will see me writing and editing full time, from home. I’m going to enjoy taking my toddler to nursery myself, before settling her into a new pre-school in our new home 200 miles away in Devon. I’m going to just be, without the rushing from one thing to another at 100 miles an hour.

When you’re self-employed, it’s easy to take on every project that’s thrown at you. And when you have a financial target in mind, it’s easy to forget to give yourself a bit of breathing space. I don’t want to make that mistake so, for now, I’m setting my sights on a couple of pretty huge and exciting writing projects, which I will be working on from home.

Oh – and I also have the small task of finding a temporary home to rent for the next few months while we buy a house in the idyllic corner of Devon that we have set our heart on.

Wish me luck – I think I’m going to need it!

The post From Radio Mum to WAHM appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Not successful enough? Not rich enough? Not achieved enough in your career? Not been a good enough parent or partner?

Because I get that. All the time.

I got a postcard from my mum today. She titled it “Bringing Home The Bacon” and put a note on the back, reminding me that it’s important to be ambitious but not to the point where you set yourself targets you can’t reach. She is wise.

Still.

I can’t seem to battle the feeling I’m not doing ENOUGH at the moment. Before Christmas, I blogged about my huge workload and battle to get everything done. I wrote last month about a lack of balance and shared recently that things have started to even out a bit. I’m working less and relaxing more.

Still.

There’s always a voice in my head that whispers “Do MORE!”. I feel like I should blog more, better. I should pitch more, to bigger publications, better. I should be actively seeking out more broadcasting work, touting myself more. I should be, just, well, BETTER.

A better mum, a better writer, a better presenter, a better wife. I look around my Twitter feed and see a string of successful people. Surely I can’t be the ONLY person to occasionally get a pang of career envy or mother envy or just, sheer self-doubt, as I kick myself for not trying harder?

I’ve always been this way. As a kid at school, I’d get an A grade and instantly feel cross with myself that it wasn’t an A*. Or at university, I’d write a piece for the student newspaper or do a stint of work experience at a radio station and feel dissatisfied. It wasn’t enough that I’d done something more than my studies, I would scold myself for not being the one student in the year to be picked out for a job before they’d even graduated.

I don’t think being a woman helps. I constantly question if I’m being a good enough mum to my toddler, if I’m around enough, if I give her enough attention and arrange enough one-to-one activities for her. I battle with a constant pile of laundry and unmade beds and dusty carpets, cross with myself that I haven’t stayed up an extra hour to get it all done. I know my husband doesn’t worry about these things.

And that takes me back to the being good enough issue – I’m not a good enough homemaker (or whatever we call it in the UK). Basically, I’m rubbish at housework.

The share it all society that we now live in doesn’t help particularly. I live in a world of Facebook and Twitter, emails and text messages. Not a day passes when another person’s success, big news, exciting project or motherhood win isn’t posted in my face. We are connected with so many people, so much of the time, that simple maths concludes we will regularly witness these kinds of triumphs. This is positive – of course it is – but it’s also negative, if you’re having a bad day. On days like these it can make you feel like a bit of a failure if you don’t have big news of your own to shout about.

On this occasion, I’ve decided to take my mum’s advice. Like I said, she is wise. I’m going to remain ambitious in every area of my life, but I’m going to be pleased and satisfied with the small wins too. I don’t think we shout enough about the small wins – the ORDINARY stuff. I need to start feeling successful again.

So, my small win of the day: I made a pancake without it breaking up into a mound of rubbery gunge. Granted, not IMMEDIATELY…

But I had it down to a tee after the fourth attempt.

What’s your ordinary win of the day? And do you ever feel like you’re not good enough? I know I can’t be the only one…

The post When “good” isn’t good enough appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

When I write this blog I’m always aware that my written voice might sound different to my “voice” voice. You know, the one I use when I’m talking and stuff.

Considering one of my jobs is working on the radio, I like to think I speak the way I write. Or perhaps a better way of putting it would be that I like to think I’m real and honest on my blog, in the same way I’m real and honest on the radio. I’m me. Me is what you get.

All of this is a round-about way of saying please do have a listen to my latest demo. Here are some snippets of what I’ve been up to over the last three weeks or so with Adam Ball on Heart Breakfast in Wiltshire.

Molly Forbes radio demo

You can find out more about my radio work (and all my other work actually) on my proper worky website.

That’s also the place you can get in touch with me regarding bookings, radio work, written features or any copywriting you’d like to throw my way. Or you could just email me: mollyjforbes@gmail.com

The post When radio and blogs collide appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I wake before I hear it. The gentle buzz of the vibration on my phone is enough to stir me from the depths of my fuzz. I reach quickly for the phone before it goes off and rouses the rest of the house. Experience has taught me this.

I roll over, instantly irritated by my snoring husband, fast asleep next to me. Huffing and puffing I pad to the bathroom, avoiding the creaky floorboards on the way. I tiptoe past the toddler’s lair, desperate not to wake her as I brush my teeth and wash my face.

I look dead.

No time for a shower this morning. Sprinkling water under my arms and rubbing vigorously in an attempt at waking up, I shiver into my underwear and pull on the warmest jumper I can find in the pitch black of the bedroom.

Socks go on – probably odd ones – but the shoes I carry in my hand as I haul my limbs over the stair gate. I can’t open it in case I wake my toddler dragon, snoozing a few feet away from me.

I get down the stairs on my backside. I’ve long since learned this is the only way I can guarantee not to set off a musical symphony on the tired floorboards.

It’s 4am.

Feeling along the walls in the black of the alcove I fumble to close the door to the stairs before flicking the light switch. I can’t risk any light seeping into my child’s room. Light is like noise – not conducive to sleep.

Sitting on the frozen tiles in the kitchen, I finally pull on my shoes and scrape a brush through my hair. Tutting (no one is happy at this hour, surely?) I sweep some breadcrumbs off the sideboard and into the sink, muttering to myself about my husband’s inability to tidy up “properly”.

The ice outside glimmers on my car windscreen, taunting me. I clench my teeth and pull on my coat, catching a thread and trying not to swear too loudly. Pocketing my car keys I rummage through my bag for my house keys and delicately remove them, careful not to jangle them noisily.

And then I’m gone. Out into the night.

But not before I’ve turned the light off inside and the security light on outside. Peering through the pane of glass at our back door, I check to make sure there are no burglars in the garden or rats by the bins.

I don’t like burglars. Or rats. And my inner child tells me these are both things to dread when the rest of the world sleeps.

It’s 4.20am.

Time to go to work.

The post Before dawn appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

During the piece, the reporter mused how Nora famously quoted her own mother’s advice that, “Everything is copy”.

Everything is copy.

I guess this means that when writing, nothing is off limits. And it goes into other areas too, like the radio work I do and the blogging work.

Everything is copy. There’s copy everywhere in life. Everywhere.

Whether it’s something my daughter did yesterday, something my husband said the week before, something I observed in a shop or saw at toddler group or heard my mum say to my dad, or thought about driving to work… Everything is copy.

Or is it?

I’m always really aware that when I talk about stuff on the radio or when I write about stuff here, or in a feature for a magazine – or whatever – that while everything may be copy for me, that might not be the case for everyone else.

I write and talk about stuff that happens in everyday life – often this is observational stuff based on my own experiences (I figure my life is as good a place to start as any). But I’m not the only person in my life, there are always other people in my experiences.

And that’s where, “Everything is copy” becomes a bit shady.

I extend this to Facebook and Twitter too. But even if I’m tweeting about something about ME, or MY daughter, I’m aware that other people (family maybe) may have a different opinion of what’s acceptable as copy. Or, to put it another way, what’s acceptable to share.

And herein lies the problem.

Because for some people – those who have their copy filters set to a much higher level than mine – ideas of acceptability will clearly be far different.

When people (mainly friends) ask me if I ever feel like I’m sharing too much on the radio or online, or if I ever feel the need to hole up behind closed doors, I reply, “I’d never talk about something on the radio that I wouldn’t be comfortable writing about on my blog, or putting on Facebook or Twitter, or writing in a magazine.”

Like this photo, for example. This is a moment, between my daughter and I. A cuddle. No one else around. But I’m happy to share it here because I shared it on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. It’s just a moment. A lovely moment. They happen all the time….

That’s not to say I always share moments like these. Some I keep just for myself.

But some people NEVER put photos like these on their blog. Or on Facebook. Or Twitter. Some celebrities have privacy injunctions in place around their kids so they can’t be photographed and put in the papers.

I’m not saying there’s a right and wrong. Just that I live somewhere in the middle of the two sharing and non-sharing extremes.

So I guess, while everything may be copy for me, it doesn’t mean everything is copy that gets published.

And THAT’S my filter.

What’s yours? Is everything copy? How do you set your copy filter?

The post Everything is copy appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Photo Credit: Alan Light

My inner Oprah Winfrey needs to be channelled. She’s sitting on the sofa today, demanding I take notice of her life coaching advice.

I can’t ignore her any longer.

She tells me to stop for a minute. Just a minute. And take a moment to recall the events of the past year. She tells me that, rather than berating myself for not achieveing the mountain of tasks on my to-do list this week, I should take stock of what I have achieved.

She tells me to look at the bigger picture.

Apparently, I need to remember where I was this time last year. I need to remember that I was yet to get married. I was in a haze of last-minute planning for said wedding. I was attempting the beginnings of a blog, a freelance career.

Taking stock and looking back, I’m reminded that this time last year I was in blissful ignorance about the battle that lay before me as my child attempted to learn to walk. I had no idea of the appointments, chasing appointments, referrals, physio assessments, physio treatments, Googling and anxious conversations with family.

And here we are, walking.

I’m reminded of my never-ending nerves over money and the “what ifs” of my freelance career not working out.

My inner Oprah tells me to take note of the increasing commissions. The commissions to write for big websites and magazines that I used to see as “The Big Boys”. Now I’m one of them. I’m a “Big Boy” (now, there’s a thing to write *snigger*).

The regular writing clients I once dreamed of, telling myself it would never happen, have arrived at my door. They are here, paying me to do a job I love. A job I didn’t even dare dream I would do when I was at university, dreaming of being “A Writer”.

No longer am I touting for cherished radio shifts. I don’t need to tout. Not at the moment, anyway. I have a regular gig. Talking. I earn actual cash from talking and laughing on the radio. And writing. They let me write for them too.

My beautiful blog, begun on a whim to see if I could still write in the haze of baby brain, is paying me back tenfold. The love I’ve cherished on it has reciprocated with new friends, a holiday, paid opportunities and fabulous products. (I apologise if the gushing Oprah is taking over a little – she’s in her stride now.)

Again, the me of this time last year doesn’t believe it.

My non-toddling toddler is toddling. I earn money writing and talking. I get to flex every creative bone in my (rather wobbly) body.

Oprah has done good.

I’m doing OK.

Now remind me of this tomorrow.

The post Oprah gives it to me straight appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It’s 5.58am. I’m two minutes from going on air to present a breakfast radio show. I’ve already eaten a bowl of shreddies, drunk three cups of tea and checked all my emails, Twitter, Facebook and showbiz websites. A rolling news channel is on the telly above my head.

I’m ready.

But while I scribble on my prep sheet, my mind can’t help wandering for thirty seconds.

I’m thinking of my nearly 2 year old daughter, probably still asleep in her cot. I’m thinking of my snoring husband, oblivious of the sunshine and the need to get the washing on the line before he leaves to do the childminder drop-off and make his own way to work. And I’m thinking of the fact I forgot to text my neighbour and ask her to collect a parcel from the post office before it closes this afternoon.

I look down and realise I’m wearing odd socks. And there’s a sudocrem mark on my shirt. This is what happens when you get up for work in the middle of the night and aren’t organised enough to put out your clothes the evening before. Anything goes at 3.30am.

But at least the sun was shining on the way into work this morning. And at least I now get to see the sun come up as I drive along the motorway Monday to Friday.

I smile.

And then the light goes on. “Morning”, I say into the microphone.

***

It’s now 8.30pm and I really need to go to bed. But I couldn’t resist the theme for The Gallery this week. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

The post Morning appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It’s just after 9am on a Wednesday morning.

We’re into the last hour of the show and I’m catching up on tweets. Twitter says I’ve missed a good week on The Gallery.

I’m a bit miffed. Work and mum duties tend to have a habit of getting in the way of the blog at times.

So I ask our lovely producer Adrian to take a picture of me, right now. No fussing with hair. No trying to put my head at a flattering angle. I’m even still biting my nails.

Frog, this is what your mum does when she’s at work. This is me, right now.

The post Me right now appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Although the new show doesn’t actually start until the 9th of January, I have a few days to get Radio Mum down to a tee. In my head, Radio Mum swans into the studio looking all sleek, with a perfectly chosen outfit, manicured nails and glossy flowing Holly Willoughby-esque mane. Radio Mum is organised, having packed the baby’s change bag the night before, right before she laid out the baby’s clothes to save the husband a job in the morning. Radio Mum makes the tea as soon as she gets home from work at 1pm, ready to devote an entire afternoon to play with the baby and be Mum Extraordinaire.

But I’m a realist.

I know 4am starts aren’t particularly pretty, even if it’s to do a job that has dream written all over it. I know it will take every ounce of non-whingeing to take on an evening of further freelance feature writing and copywriting, after being jumped on by an 18 month old and battling Mother Guilt every step of the way.

So wish me luck. And remind me to stock up on the under-eye cream and only buy non-iron clothes from now on.

The post On becoming Radio Mum appeared first on Mother's Always Right.