Yep – none. Zilch, nada. Not one tiny bit.

In fact, they’re still wrapped up all shiny and new in the box, with the price tag firmly attached. Oops.

The thing is, I really WANT to get fit again. I do. I look down at my rounding tummy and see extra wobbles where there weren’t before and it makes me feel, well, a bit flat. (Not flat in the flat stomach sense of the word, unfortunately.) But I just can’t seem to find the time, energy and motivation to do what it takes to get off my backside. 

I blame work and the summer holidays. And then I blame moving house. And then I look at my husband and blame him, when I’ve run out of things to blame. But the truth is that, really, I can only blame myself. And that makes me cross.

During the school holidays I’ve really struggled to get any amount of work done during the day. Although, being a teacher, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine is off, he struggles to keep Frog occupied for a full day while I get work done. So we end up going out and doing things as a family, meaning I play catch-up in the evenings.

It’s great, but it does mean that I haven’t had a bedtime before 2am most nights, as I work between 7pm and 2am to meet my deadlines. That leaves me a tad frazzled, tired and craving carbs the next day. The last thing I want to do is jump out of bed and go for a five mile run.

Anyway, excuses aside, I’m determined to do something about it. My first step in the right direction has been to give up all alcohol on a school night. Time was, I would only have a drink on a Friday and Saturday night, but I have slipped and got used to having a glass or two of wine every night or so.

I love wine. It’s my tipple of choice and there’s nothing better than sitting in the garden on a balmy summer evening with a cold white in hand. For that reason I refuse to give it up completely, so I’m going to restrict it again to Friday and Saturday nights. I was recently sent a delicious case of wine from the lovely people at Bespoke Offers and, clearly, I had to wait until it was all gone before I embarked on my wine-free week nights.

The case came with twelve bottles, six red and six white – along with two fancy glasses to enjoy it with. I’m not so keen on red, so the NLM and my dad have made short work of it, leaving my mum and I to tackle the white. I’m no wine connoisseur but it tasted blooming lovely.

And that leads me back to the round tummy, getting healthy thing. Now the wine’s gone I have no excuse. I need to don my brand new trainers and shed some poundage.

Anyone with me?

***

Disclosure: I was sent a case of wine by the lovely people at Bespoke Offers for the purpose of this post. 

The post On giving up wine. Sort of. appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The last couple of weeks has seen me struggle through each day with an exhausting cough, racking my body with each bellowing bark. I’ve struggled to sleep, speak and breathe. It’s not been ideal – especially as one stream of income relies on my speech. It’s hard doing radio when you have a cough threatening to erupt all over the microphone every two minutes.

But it was my oldest friend’s birthday this weekend. I wanted to be at her party in Bristol more than anything. I’d been looking forward to a night of irresponsible behaviour, having too much to drink, dancing and catching up with friends I haven’t seen for years. On Friday night I was starting to feel better. I put my cough to one side and half made up my mind to be at the party the following night – no matter how I felt.

And then I woke up on Saturday morning and knew I couldn’t go.

The cough was still there. I was tired from a 60+ hour week of work and our renewed term-time activities of swimming, Monkey Music, etc etc. I looked at my busy two year old and knew that if I pushed my body to the limit that night, I would pay for it every day for the following week.

So I cancelled.

I was in a mood all yesterday afternoon and evening. Suddenly, I was 14 again, worrying about missing the party and all the fun stuff. I watched The X Factor in my slippers and felt about 60 years old. I slouched on the sofa, feeling thoroughly miserable, ill and unsociable. My husband remarked more than once that I was “too bloody mardy” and needed to “pull myself together”.

But this morning, as my toddler padded into our bedroom and clambered into bed with us, I knew I’d made the right choice.

I woke up in my own bed, without feeling dead. I didn’t want to put a pillow over my head as I mourned a lack of sleep and too much wine. I felt – cough aside – human.

So rather than continue the “mardiness”, I ended up in the park by 9am, pushing Elton John on the swings. I did a bit of housework (desperately unusual for me) and actually met a work deadline more than 48 hours in advance. We went blackberry picking and I baked a crumble.

Sometimes it pays to be dull.

Remind me of this next weekend.

The post Not going out appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

As I’m caught up with mum duties, work duties, house duties and all the other duties that rule my life, I momentarily forget about that special moment that will soon be mine.

But then I remember, hugging the anticipation of it close, a gleeful smile spreading slowly across my face.

Thursday arrives and I’m on my knees. Exhaustion has grabbed me by the insides and I plaster a smile upon my face as I watch my newly toddling child making full use of the novelty of her legs, causing havoc at our afternoon music class.

I thrust supper at my family and put my daughter to bed, before hauling myself to the computer to meet various pending deadlines.

Fingers sore from tapping the keyboard, bladder bursting from the huge quantities of tea and water I’ve consumed to keep me going, I look at the clock and sigh.

The memory of those cherished golden seconds comes back to me. Not long now.

And here I am. Just a few hours away from those delicious seconds.

The moment my lips wrap around that cold glass of wine on a Friday night. Bliss.

The post The golden second appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

When I became a mum I was shocked at how this attitude took itself to the next level. Mums who let their babies cry in the night – why? Mums who didn’t choose Baby-led Weaning – why not? Mums who were all competitive about their baby’s milestones – what’s the point?

And then I took a step back and realised I was being a bit of an idiot, actually.

And that’s when it hit me. I was only doing what lots of other people I knew did. I was going off and judging people for the choices they were making in their life. Choices that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Choices which I really shouldn’t give two farts about.

You haven’t experienced this kind of choice judging until you have a child. Other parents are the harshest critics. Everyone has an opinion about the best way to “parent” – which is, of course, their own way.

It was around the time I started working under contracted hours that I fell, yet again, to Judgmental Mum Syndrome. But this time, I was the victim of it. I found myself defending my decision to return to full time work, explaining my early hours which meant I was still getting time with my child, talking away questions about the decision being a right or a wrong one. Even though the people I was explaining myself to really had nothing to do with my life.

The thing is, it wasn’t their judgments I was trying to quell. It was my own. I was answering my own Judgemental Mum Voice, inside my own head.

It happened again yesterday.

I decided I couldn’t be bothered to cook last night. Being up since 3.30am and having little in the fridge can do that to you. We chose to make the most of the sunshine and took an impromptu visit to our local pub. We sat by the canal and talked about the food and drinks we would order. I felt relaxed for about 5 minutes.

It was then that I became aware of a couple sitting nearby. As my non-toddling toddler crawled around on the floor next to us, attempting to eat a stale potato from an old potato salad, washed down with the odd cigarette end, I started to feel on edge. I made a big fuss of stopping her eating the stray tasty morsels and announced, in my loudest and most cheery mum voice, “Not that darling. That’s not for you!” before bouncing her up and down on my lap.

I was a GOOD mum! I was PROACTIVE! I was IN CONTROL! See everyone?

But it got worse when the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine got back from the bar. He brought with him a cold glass of delicious white wine. But, at the same time as thanking him under my breath, I loudly berated him for buying wine. Wine?! With Alcohol?! But it’s not even 5.30pm! All the while I was pointing my voice in the direction of the couple nearby, peering at us over the top of their menus.

And when it came to order the food, I told the NLM to ask for “mash” instead of “chips” with the child’s meal. Because, of course, you can’t give a 21 month old chips. Of course not. That would be BAD parenting.

By this time I was exhausted. The couple were still looking at us. I was on edge. I was at the epicentre of Judgmental Mum Syndrome, in the thick of the hot heat of judging eyes and judging tongues.

And then I looked around.

And I noticed at least seven other families like us. Each mother was equally hot and flustered. Each mother was drinking an equally large glass of wine, berating their husband for buying them an alcoholic drink, as they greedily swigged down the delicious cold nectar. Each mother was peeking over their shoulder as they surreptitiously fed chips under the table to their hungry children.

Each mother was just like me. Battling their inner Judgmental Mum Voice. Thinking that everyone was looking at them and not at the family sitting opposite.

So I thought, “Sod it”. And I drank my wine.

And, blimey, it tasted good.

Yes. I give my daughter Fruit Shoots. BAD MOTHER.

***

If you enjoyed this post in any way, or also like a glass of wine – or even a Fruit Shoot -  perhaps you might consider nominating me for a MAD Blog Award or voting for me in The Brilliance in Blogging Awards, for which I’m shortlisted in the Lit category.  Just a thought.

The post Judgmental mum fail appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It starts with a whisper at around midday. I can hear it humming softly from the fridge in all its cold, fresh, delicious glory.

The call gets steadily louder as the afternoon wears on. With each tantrum from my beautiful, highly-strung 20 month old daughter, the wine positively sings from the bottle stacked lovingly in its cosy white home in the corner of the kitchen.

As the last weekday 3.45am alarm call slowly ebbs its way from my memory, the wine mocks me, calling with promises of relaxation and smiles. As the 500th email from the past three days is meticulously answered and filed away, as the final toy is tidied away among friends, as my daughter is tucked into bed, my mouth positively salivates at that first delightful sip of cold Sauvignon Blanc.

I think I have a problem. I forgot to buy any this week.

Damn.

Friday night friend

***

Blogland has gone a bit crazy over the past couple of days, with nominations for The MAD Blog Awards now open and the first wave of blogs shortlisted for The Brilliance in Blogging Awards announced.

To my utter amazement, I’ve been shortlisted in the Lit category for The Bibs. You can vote for me here.

To nominate me for a MAD Blog Award just go to the website linked above and click on “nominate”.

My name is Molly. But in cyberworld, I am Mother’s Always Right. My URL is http://mothersalwaysright.wordpress.com.

Now I’m off in search of wine.

The post I think I have a problem appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

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

Fast forward two hours and we still haven’t found our villa. Between the four adults on this trip, not one of us has remembered to bring the directions.

Another hour in and still no sign of the villa. We’re driving down a deserted dirt track with no idea where we’re heading. I look at my sleeping baby, in her rickety Turkish carseat and feel sick.

And so began our first family holiday to Turkey last Easter.

Despite the rocky start, we had a brilliant time.

Eating…

Drinking…

And swimming…

After a hectic nine months getting used to parenthood, it gave us some time together as a family to relax. It also gave my parents some time with Frog, to get to know the person she was becoming.

A person intent on “helping” with her grandfather’s crossword…

***

This is my post for this week’s Gallery, where the theme is “The letter T”. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

The post T is for Turkey appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

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

1) I am a sore loser

2) I can’t consume more than three glasses of wine before getting all loud and over-excited

3) I should never be allowed on a rickshaw after drinking said three glasses of wine

4) I am a terrible singer.

You may have guessed by now I didn’t win the Best Baby Blog category at The Mum and Dad Blog Awards. I lost to an annoyingly brilliant blogger called Tom who writes at Diary of the Dad. Not only is he irritatingly talented but he’s also incredibly modest. All the things I’m not.

So, after contenting myself with those age-old lines “It’s not about the winning, it’s about the taking part” I spent the rest of the night applauding all the other fabulous winners and behaving in a very gracious manner to all those clutching their rather lovely awards. I was a picture of class and sensiblity.

*Ahem*

I wish all of the above paragraph was true, but unfortunately it’s not. I did lose, to a very talented blogger. And I did clap (rather too loudly in some cases) as each winner was announced. But I also stumbled upon the vats and vats of free wine. And then there was some singing. And some more singing. And a bit of dancing. Oh, and a Subway sandwich (eaten by the side of the road) at some point in the evening. And then falling off a bed. And then sleep.

Although I didn’t get a piece of glassware for my living room mantelpiece, I did meet some of the people behind the blogs I’ve been following since starting my own ramblings back in February. I laughed until I cried and took lots and lots of rather rubbish photographs. I chatted with people I’d never actually met face to face before, but who I already consider “friends”. It was a fantastic night from start to finish.

So, as I packed up my bag and said a fond farewell to the lovely hotel in London, made possible by my brilliant sponsors Brother Max, I couldn’t help but make a silent wish to be back next year. But I want a trophy next time. Obviously.

The post So I didn’t win, but I had a bloomin’ good time appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I’m hoping it won’t be a packed train, because I will be armed with some hair straighteners, a huge pair of heels and a rather pretty dress from Ellos. Oh and about ten tonnes of make-up, a camera and some very, very big pants.

It’s The MAD Blog Awards, see. The night I get to meet up with other parent bloggers and let my hair down. The night I get to celebrate all that is brilliant about blogging. The night I get to sleep in a room without a snoring man by my side (here’s hoping my roommate Northern Mum doesn’t snore).

Thanks to my brilliant sponsors, Brother Max, the innovative (and award winning) baby brand, I can now afford to stay over and won’t have to attempt running for the last train home in my ridiculously high shoes.

I’m staying, along with plenty of the other finalists, at the Radisson Edwardian Hotel on Bloomsbury Street. It all looks rather fancy and a far cry from what I’m used to on a Friday night. And I can’t bloody wait.

If I had a half decent phone I would tweet from the event. But seeing as I don’t, I think I’ll just drink wine instead.

So raise a glass – to The MADs, Brother Max and a pair of very big pants. London town: I’m coming to get you.

***

If you want to follow the action as events unfold, there’ll be a live blog on The MADs website. It all kicks off at 6.30pm, with the awards starting at 7.15pm.

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