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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One of the things I like best about being a Shopcade ambassador is discovering new brands.

Until recently, I’d never come across Joy The Store or 18 and East before – but what a discovery that was.

I’m currently in the market for a range of wedding outfits to kit me out for the gazillion weddings I have this year. Weddings don’t come particularly cheap, so I’m not keen on spending a fortune on a different dress each time. But now, with the help of trusty Shopcade, I don’t need to.

Joy The Store and 18 and East are both my new go-to places for inexpensive fashion, that I won’t be likely to see on another guest at a party. Their designs are unique enough to be a bit quirky and cheap enough to avoid the guilt I often feel when buying frivolous stuff I don’t really need. (Both dresses in the picture above are from Joy and retail at £20 each.)

It’s not all about the dresses though. If you’re not a dress type of person you can browse a bit more and come across your favoured skirt/top or trouser/top combo.

Both the skirt and top in this picture are from Joy – and both cost less than £50.

And – because Shopcade is full of familiar and new brands alike – you can also find items from your old faithfuls, like Dorothy Perkins, Asos, Debenhams etc.

I know what you’re thinking: “Yeah, whatever. She’s a Shopcade ambassador, she would say that.” But it’s true. I genuinely never buy anything online now without checking for a deal on Shopcade. And, most of the time, I already know what I want because I’ve already added it to one of my Shopcade lists.

I get points just for logging onto the site, and I don’t just use it when I’m in the mood for buying. If I have a spare 5 minutes, I’ll pop onto Shopcade and have a browse – in much the same way as I would if I was early for a meeting and there was a shop over the road.

If the idea of social shopping puts you off, it needn’t do. Shopcade is very similar to Pinterest and incredibly easy to navigate – even I can do it without a hitch.

If you join up, come and find me on there – and check out my Fashion for Under £50 list. It’s FULL of bargains!

***

Disclosure: As a Shopcade ambassador, I regularly get sent lovely things from the site. All views in this post remain my own. Obviously.

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Photo credit: CP Photography

We went to a wedding at the weekend. It was very lovely and moving and special. It has also taken me three whole days to get over, in order to sum up the courage to write about it.

The words “wedding ceremony” and “toddlers” should rarely be used in the same sentence. This is something I came to learn after the weekend anyway. Unfortunately, prior to accepting the invitation to attend a beautiful religious ceremony for a lovely couple, I was blissfully unaware that toddlers don’t do wedding ceremonies. Not my toddler, anyway.

It started the morning of the wedding. Fluffing up my two year old’s favourite floral party number, I asked if she was excited. I should have noted the warning signs there and then.

“I NOT go wedding Mummy! It BORING!” replied my defiant tot. Glancing over at his child with a look of concern, Frog’s dad asked if she planned to be well-behaved during the one and a half hour ceremony. “NO!” She shouted, before confirming, “I do be stress my Daddy OUT!”

Fabulous.

As we drove to the ceremony, we charted up a war wedding plan between us. “You keep the emergency chocolate in your pocket,” I said, “And I’ll sit at the end of an aisle, so if we need to make a quick getaway I can do it swiftly.”

Feeling smug, I lugged my huge bag of Toddler Distraction Paraphenalia into the church, ignoring the ladies tottering in clutching delicate handbags and tiny lace purses. We were seated in the upper level of the church and, looking around, the potential horror of the impending situation started to dawn on me.

We were in a gallery-like setting, looking down upon more than 200 guests. There was no sharp exit to be made, with steep steps and a door at the other end of the building. The arching ceilings taunted us with the perfect acoustics to fully showcase a loud toddler tantrum.

Attempting to hide the lead weight in my stomach, I stood, holding my toddler, as the long-awaited bride made her appearance in lace and soft muslin, gliding down the aisle to the swells of strings and a rapturous congregation. I dabbed a tear and nodded approvingly at the other children, gazing longingly at the “princess” in white.

“IT FINISHED YET?!” Yelled my toddler, around two seconds after the music stopped. Scrabbling in my bag for the emergency chocolate, I hushed a loud “Shush” as my child announced to the congregation, from her high perch in the gallery, “I BORED. I GO HOME NOW!”

My panic eased as she settled into her chocolate and the business of vows and songs started. But, just five minutes later, the chocolate was gone. Cursing myself for not bringing more, I breathed a sigh of relief as another child, somewhere else in the church started screaming for “TOYS!”.

Lulled into a false sense of security, I sat back and smiled along with everyone else as we were asked if we knew of a lawful impediment to the matrimony. Enjoying the moment of drama, I sat with bated breath, looking around the church and acknowledging eye contact with the other mums as we internally mouthed a thank you to our children for remaining silent at that moment.

Until.

“TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR, HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE!” Rang out from the pint-sized person beside me. Seizing the opportunity to perform in front of a crowd of 200, on a raised stage, my two year old had got to her feet on the pew and proceeded to wave her arms around in a new routine the likes of which Beyonce would be proud.

“UP ABOVE THE WORLD SO HIGH! LIKE A DIAMOND IN THE SKY!” As I tried to hush her, crimson at the hard stares emanating from the front of the church, I was met with, “I NOT BE QUIET MUMMY! I WANT TO SING SONGS!”

Needless to say we spent most of the rest of the ceremony at the back of the church, playing on the stairs hidden away from the main action.

I’m telling you, wedding ceremonies and toddlers don’t mix.

***

Linking up to Wot So Funee over at Actually Mummy.

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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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That’s right, I am now *gasp* a “Mrs”. I have a new husband, name and marital status.

This time one week ago I was slugging down wine and preparing for the first dance. I was still attempting to teeter around on too-high shoes (my new husband is six foot five, so the high shoes were a necessity) and look elegant in my beautiful dress. But the alcohol was also starting to take it’s toll, so the veil had been ditched and the laughing was getting a little raucous.

It was the best day of my life.

Don’t get me wrong, the day Frog was born was pretty special too. But I was also in quite a bit of pain and hadn’t slept in three days. So as far as pain-free, non-sleep deprived days go, last Saturday wins hands down.

I want to tell you all about it, really I do. But I want to do it with pictures. So you’ll have to hang on a couple of days until I can do the wedding blog post justice, when the photographs are ready.

And then I promise I’ll shut up about the damn wedding and get back to the baby business.

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I’ve managed to hoodwink persuade a real-life, actual man to promise to spend the rest of his life with me. I know, I can’t believe it either.

The man in question isn’t in the house this evening. He’s been turfed out into a nearby hotel, along with about ten million family members from all corners of the country. They’re all in separate rooms though, obviously.

As a result, today has been one of pampering and nice-smelling things. While my aunt and uncle entertained Frog for the day, I had my hairy toes seen to, my face polished and my finger nails neatened, all in a room that smelt of flowers. I then came home to find my wedding dress laid out on my bed for me, along with a card from my mum.

It was at that point that I cried. My mum made my dress, see. And the card contained a photograph of her holding me as a baby. *sob* (Needless to say, when I rang her sobbing, she told me to get a grip.)

After spending the evening cuddling my daughter, eating pizza with my bridesmaids and opening the first flurry of cards, I finally feel like a bride. It’s finally sunk in that I’m getting married in the morning. OH MY GOD I’M GETTING MARRIED IN THE MORNING!

And I don’t feel nervous. I don’t feel sick. I just feel the little butterflies start to flap their wings in my stomach, as I imagine the day ahead and seeing the NLM waiting at the end of that long walk for me, ready to put a ring on my finger.

It’s the night before the rest of my life – and I can’t bloody wait.

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And that is exactly why we’ve had such trouble choosing our first dance.

We’re not particularly traditional people. We did everything the wrong way round to start with, having a baby first and all. And we’re not getting married in a church. So I was all for ditching the first dance altogether. But then I realised the endless possibilities.

For the first time in my life, I would have a ready-made audience that couldn’t walk out halfway through my big number. It would be my time to shine. I started to feel the warmth of the limelight on my face. I could feel the ache in my legs as I curtsied to rapturous applause.

With my jazzy jazz hands, high kicks and lift the likes of which Patrick Swayze would be proud of, I would win my audience. Frog could be my backing dancer. I’d have a standing ovation. I’d become a YouTube sensation. I’d be invited on to This Morning to chat about the moving yet skilful performance with Phil. Louis Spence would see my moves and he’d just have to invite me to join his dance troupe.  I’d get my own TV show, make millions and become Take That’s star dancer. In fact, I’d be invited to join Take That, as their first ever female member, because of my “special star quality”.

And then I remembered there would be two of us in this dance. I’d have to share the limelight with my new husband. He was, let’s say, less than keen on the jazz hands routine. He disagreed with me that Dirty Dancing is possibly the best film ever made. In fact, he thought it was the worst. (I only managed to persuade him to watch it with the promise “there’s fighting in it” – and the one punch in the entire film was sadly disappointing.)

So we canned the jazz hands and I got my husband-to-be drunk. In his inebriated state I managed to convince him to agree to another choreographed number. This time to Take That’s Greatest Day. But as his hangover set in so did the cold feet. So Gary et al were canned along with Patrick Swayze.

Then Granny from the North suggested a slow number. After humming the tunes to Lady In Red and countless other croony tunes, there wasn’t one that stood out.

So I’m opening the floor to suggestions. What was your first wedding dance and why did you choose that particular song? As well as the chance to steal your ideas I’ll get a good excuse to be nosey and find out all about your wedding.

*Jazz hands*

(humour  me – it’s the only time I’ll get to do them this week.)

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This lunchtime, after putting the baby to bed and attempting for the umpteenth time to finish the damn table plan for the impending wedding (mine, that is), I decided to brave my inbox. It’s something I’ve been avoiding recently, as five minutes into checking emails and the wedding “to do” list has increased from ten to fifty items. So I’d prefer to keep my head in the sand.

On this particular occasion though, I was pleasantly surprised.

I’ve just found out I’m a finalist in the Gurgle Blog Awards. I’m one of five to be shortlisted in the Best Funny Mummy Blog category.

Now, this is rather ironic, as for the past two weeks I’ve been anything but funny. Grumpy, yes. Funny, no. With the wedding just eleven days around the corner, a crawling baby intent on “helping”, work coming out of my ears and a house that resembles a cross between a mad wedding planner’s lair and the “before” shots of How Clean is Your House, I’ve not spent much time smiling. Until this lunchtime.

So I can only assume the judges picked me as a finalist because they felt sorry for me after I wet my pants in public, farted in public, or flashed my bits at a fireman (in public).

Anyway, I’m not complaining – but you may soon be. Because now I’ve been shortlisted I’m going to start begging asking nicely for votes. From you. Just one click could be the difference between me winning £250 in Mothercare vouchers, or ending up a drunken mess after drowning my sorrows at being a complete failure. No pressure then.

You can vote for me here.

And you can read my latest post here.

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As Frog is only 13 months old, her vocabulary isn’t particularly wide at the moment. She’s got to grips with “Mummy” and “Daddy” and “Gagaga”, “Bababa” and “Eeeeeeeeeeee”. But that’s about it. Nothing hugely amusing, I think you’ll agree.

But yet again, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine has stepped up to the plate. Where his daughter has failed, he has taken up the mantle.

Now, before I go on, I should probably explain that, despite what follows, the NLM is rather intelligent. He’s a teacher and is in fact responsible for imparting his knowledge on many unsuspecting teenagers. A job which he does brilliantly. But his forte is computers and graphic design stuff (he can also play the Clarinet incredibly well, but he’d kill me for telling you this), not words.

As a journalist and English Literature graduate, words are my thing. I can’t add up for toffee and I’m rubbish at anything even slightly technical, but I like to think I have a reasonable grip on the English language (unless I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, in which case speaking actual words becomes almost impossible and I prefer to simply make noises instead).

So you’ll understand when I was a little disappointed at the NLM’s basic error during this recent conversation…

NLM: Wow, we’re getting married in less than three weeks – three weeks!

Me: Yup. I know. There’s still so much to do.

NLM: It’s going to be great though, isn’t it? I mean, we’re going to have a brilliant day.

Me: If I survive the next two weeks of working and arranging all the last minute things I still have to do. Yes, it’ll be a great day.

NLM: Yeah, but you know what I can’t wait for…(*rubs hands together gleefully*)

Me: What?

NLM: I can’t wait to cremate the marriage – it’s going to be so good.

Me: Er, what did you say?

NLM: You never listen to me! I said – I can’t wait to cremate the marriage. Cremating the marriage with you is going to be brilliant. We’ll be getting all close and stuff as a proper married couple. Oh yeah, cremating that marriage is something I’m really looking forward to.

Me: Are you sure you mean “cremate”?

NLM: Oh no, sorry, I didn’t mean “cremate”. I meant “consume”. I can’t wait to consume our marriage. I’m really looking forward to it.

What can I say? I’m such a lucky girl…

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