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. 

The post How do YOU win Partner Points? appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

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. 

The post Spoiling the man appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

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. 

The post What happens on date night stays on date night appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

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….

The post A date night appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

When you raise kids with someone, I guess it’s pretty obvious that there has to be an element of “team playing” in the role. I’m not talking about being consistent with behaviour, or praise, or whatever – I’m on about the more back-to-basics stuff. The DOING stuff. The bits of being a parent and living in a house that are vital, but often overlooked because they’re just so, well, OBVIOUS.

When I first became a mum I was on maternity leave for a year. The first part of the year was all newborn baby sleep deprivation, adjustment and trying desperately to get out to meet other mums. The second part of the year was all about setting up a new direction in my career, building a portfolio so I could start freelancing. 

Within that year, we made some pretty massive changes to our roles on this “team” we’d created.

The (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine was the one “bringing home the bacon”, so to speak, and I did much of the stuff at home. But when I started working again we needed to reassess how we did things. I just didn’t have the time to do ALL the washing, ironing, cleaning, cooking, shopping, toilet scrubbing alongside work AND raising a tiny baby. That was when the NLM started doing more around the house and looking after Frog for periods on his own, so I could crack on and get some work done.

We haven’t always got it right though. There have been times when we’ve both felt unappreciated and over-worked, downtrodden and taken for granted. I’ve written before about feeling annoyed that everything with the house always seemed to fall to me, just because I was a woman. It’s a subject that has come up again, since then, but I think it’s generally because (like me) the NLM is often so busy, he just doesn’t realise stuff needs doing.

The last couple of months have seen another shift in our roles on the team. Before the summer, I was out of the house for work by 4.30am Monday to Friday, meaning the NLM did the whole morning routine before he went off to do a full day teaching kids in a secondary school. Over the summer the routine changed again when I left that job, we relocated 200 miles away, and the NLM was on school holidays. Recently, I’ve been readjusting to working from home again and doing the lion’s share of the house stuff. The NLM’s new job means he’s out of the house by 7.15am most days and doesn’t get back until gone 6pm most nights. He spends evenings planning lessons, marking and preparing for the next day of teaching.

Up until last weekend I was starting to feel that familiar pit of resentment in my stomach. I still had work to do, but was having to juggle it alongside all my other responsibilities as a mum.

The NLM’s long work hours mean I do the morning and the night routine. I do tea time and all the washing and cooking. It’s up to me to fill in forms for pre-school and make sure Frog has a packed lunch to take with her. I do the ironing, the cleaning and make sure the fridge is stocked and the meals are planned. I spend afternoons crafting or running around the park or getting out the play dough with my three year old. Come 7pm, I am exhausted, but that’s when the second part of my working day begins, when I fire up the laptop and get typing.

It didn’t feel like much of a team, to be honest.

But then, on Friday night the NLM and I had a chat. “I have a huge deadline on Monday morning and I can’t get all my work done in just the evenings this weekend”, I told him. So, at 10.30am on Saturday morning I trundled up the stairs and locked myself in the office until 10pm that night. Meanwhile, the NLM got out the poster paints, the play dough, the glue and made a trip to the supermarket. On Sunday, we swapped. I took Frog to the beach, cooked a roast, did the washing and put her to bed while the NLM worked.

While weekends are important for family time, sometimes it’s just not possible to fit an activity in that we do all together. From an outside perspective we were very separate all last weekend but, actually, I can’t remember the last time our role as a “team” worked so well.

How do you work as a team in your house? Do you have set roles and responsibilities within the home?

The post How do you define “team player” as a parent? appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I’m not talking parenting fails or parenting tribalism. I’m on about the mum-bashing type of Facebook updates and Tweets that you see, alluding to some sort of parenting / non-parenting divide in the world.

Terrified I’d become one of *those* mums, I restricted (or, attempted to restrict) gushy status updates about my new baby. Equally, I held myself back from posting running commentaries about my child’s sleeping / eating / sleeping / eating habits. Mainly, it wasn’t that interesting to me – let alone anyone else – but I was also aware that I didn’t want to annoy people without kids. 

But something dawned on me this weekend. And it’s a funny thing because it’s not something I’ve particularly realised before now.

I am a mum. I have a child. I have all the battles and elation and emotions that come with being a parent. But it’s not ALL I am. My relationship to Frog doesn’t completely define me. And you know what? I think my friends know that.

The so-called “parent vs non-parent divide” is just in my head. And on Facebook. And on various websites that are seemingly set up to diss parents who go on about their kids. But in real life, is there really a divide? Not in my world.

I went to a wedding at the weekend. It was brilliant. I watched one of my loveliest friends get married to a brilliant bloke and, afterwards, I partied with parents and non-parents alike. We were without our three year old, so anyone who didn’t know us wouldn’t know we were in the “parent category”. But I chatted with guests who had kids, danced with toddlers on the dancefloor and swilled wine with people who aren’t parents.

At no point did the fact I was a parent put me in some kind of box in the room. And at no point did I put anyone who wasn’t a parent into that other box.

I didn’t talk about whether they wanted kids, were trying for kids or had no interest in becoming parents. We chatted about the gorgeous food, how amazing it was to see our friends so happy, the genius choice of a Katy Perry song as the first dance and what was happening on the news that day.

Conversations were wide-ranging and non-limiting. There was no sense of competition or judgement or, well, anything negative at all. And I don’t think that was just because it was a bloody excellent day.

To a certain degree there is a sense that you join a “club” when you become a mum. When you meet other mums I guess you’ve automatically got something in common, in that you’ve both got a kid.

But, sometimes, that might be all. Conversations beyond your role as a mum might be limiting, because there’s no other common ground between you. And, in just the same way, you might have LOADS in common with someone who isn’t a mum (or a dad).

At this wedding I was chatting to someone who asked me about my daughter. “I love the pics you put of her on Facebook – she’s so cute!” she said. “Oh no – I’m sorry about that!” I replied, immediately thinking I was one *those* mums. “Not at all – I like it!” she assured me. “I think they’re lovely.”

And that’s it really. She wasn’t offended by my pictures in just the same way I wasn’t offended by the updates about my mates’ nights out or impromptu trips to the pub, that are rare for me these days.

If a friend has had a bad day at work I don’t immediately think, “Blimey, she knows NOTHING about a bad day” just because she hasn’t got kids. And I don’t pity the people who don’t have kids, because they’re “missing out” on all the good sides of being a parent.

We’re all people after all.

Or maybe that’s just me. What do you think?

*Obligatory cute kid picture*

The post Parents vs non-parents: it’s not a competition appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

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

The post What I’ve learned in two years of marriage appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It’s the first time we’ve headed back that way since moving from Berkshire to South Devon and – once we’d got over the loooooong journey – we were very happy to find ourselves in the capital for a night at Live By The Lake. 

When you have kids, the opportunity for an evening out together is a rare and very lovely one. It’s funny, I don’t think I’ve had a bad night out since becoming a mum and that’s partly because I’m so damn excited to be off duty that any night out seems pretty special.

That said, Friday night was a spectacular treat, because it involved a night in a hotel, drinks in a pretty pub AND the most stunning setting for a gig I’ve ever experienced.

Set against the rolling gardens and lake of Kenwood House in London, Live By The Lake is a series of concerts over a week. The line-up includes the likes of Suede (who we saw on Friday night), Keane (who played on Saturday), plus a whole host of classical music.

We started our Friday night in The Spaniards Inn, a gorgeous pub with the best chips I’ve ever tasted. A couple of gin and tonics with friends under the dappled shade of the leafy courtyard and I was more than ready to head over the venue.

Walking into the stately gardens of Kenwood House was a bit surreal. Couples, groups of friends and families lounged on the grass relaxing in the evening sunshine, soaking in the grand setting. 

Despite taking about a gazillion pictures, none of my photos could do the place justice. It’s just so vast and green and beautifully kept, it felt a bit like stumbling across a secret place.

The NLM and I have been together for more than five years now, but we’ve never been to a gig together before. I know, ridiculous. Part of the problem is that we have really different taste in music.

Friday night was a refreshing change though, because we didn’t squabble over the tunes once. Both being kids of the 90s, the Britpop music of that era is about the only music that we both agree is good. We grew up on Pulp, Oasis, Blur and Suede. I liked Suede back in the day, but the NLM was a HUGE fan and still rates them as one of his favourite bands now.

There’s nothing that quite beats the excitement and anticipation of seeing a band play live, but the setting of this particular gig marks it out from every other concert I’ve ever been to. There was enough room to sit down or dance around without getting trodden on. Plus, the atmosphere was really relaxed – we even saw groups of families with toddlers chilling out at the back taking in the tunes.

Whilst the queue for the bar was hefty, once we’d made the decision to get in a couple of rounds each time, we didn’t need to worry about going back to join the queues again. I didn’t wait more than ten minutes for the loo either, which is a blessing when you’ve had a few drinks!

The NLM is a teacher and, although it’s been great having time together as a family over the last few weeks, I have to admit there have been moments recently where we’ve got on each other’s nerves. We’ve survived a huge relocation, my own stress over pending work deadlines and the juggle of life / kids / work / moving. It’s fair to say we needed a night off from it all, away from it all. And Live By The Lake provided that perfectly.

The verdict? Brilliant music + superb setting = happy mum and dad.

***

I was provided with four tickets to a night at Live By The Lake, for the purpose of this review. 

The post A night off: Live By The Lake appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I love the school holidays. LOVE them. But I’ve been guilty this week of looking forward to my teacher husband being back at work so I can crack on and get some work done myself. In peace and quiet. Without a nagging husband or three year old hassling me for things. Today I made a decision to stop attempting the juggle and get out of the house. 

Work deadlines are knocking at my door. Forms need to be filled in for important things. Phone calls need to be made. Washing needs to be done. Carpets need to be hoovered. But today, after another hour of grumpiness and raised voices, anger from a three year old who is bored, a husband who wants to be left to sleep or potter about on his own and me – torn, frazzled and in the middle of it all – I threw my hands in the air and said enough is enough.

We were going out. Together. As a family. With smiles on our faces and a positive attitude, even if it bloody well killed us.

Turned out to be the best decision I’ve made all week.

We paddled in the sea, jumped tiny waves and drew letters in the sand. Frog and the NLM went searching for shells and I resisted the urge to check my phone, instead wasting a good five minutes making a beach garden in the sand.

We returned home calmer and less shouty.

My new-found serenity couldn’t even be shattered by my three year old putting my favourite candle down the toilet, “cleaning the germs” off the toilet seat with my posh soap, or drawing in biro on my brand new tablecloth.

The beach really does do wonders.

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As my sandals thudded on the pavement, smack smack SMACKING against the hot cobbles, a continuous monologue was droning round my skull. “WHY do I have to do it ALL THE TIME?” I huffed to myself, as I pushed the buggy down the hill, ignoring the chatter from my three year old.

The sweat trickled down my back and my cheeks grew redder by the minute. “It’s always ME!” I muttered, eyes squinting in anger as I turned the corner into the park.

I was cross. Scrap that – I was furious. 

Having spent the morning working in my upstairs office, doing interviews, writing, sorting through accounts, I then came across an email from our financial adviser. It was about mortgage stuff, grown-up stuff, stuff that I have mainly been dealing with because the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine…. well, I’m not sure why I’ve been dealing with it to be honest.

Anyway, I came downstairs at midday to find my husband and daughter on the sofa, in their pyjamas, watching TV. With no food in the fridge and the butchers closing for the day in under an hour. I was not impressed.

Rather than saying exactly why I was so peeved, I simply got Frog dressed, wrote a shopping list and smack smack SMACKED my sandals down the hill to the shops.

We took a detour to the park and then a detour to an icecream shop so – of course – by the time I got to the butchers it was shut. As I trudged back up the hill, laden down with my wares from the grocery and local Co-Op, the internal monologue returned. “If he’d have done it THIS MORNING, the BLOODY BUTCHERS wouldn’t be SHUT!”

I set my jaw as I grappled with the buggy and didn’t greet my husband as I huffed my way into the kitchen. Instead, I went all silent and cross, daring him to guess what was up by the shape of my tense shoulders.

What an idiot.

Me, I mean. Not him.

Yes he probably should have gone to the shops. And yes, we have no clean washing. And yes, the shopping list wasn’t written. But maybe if – when I first came downstairs at midday – I’d have told him that there was no food and that he needed to get off his backside, then he’d have known why I was less than chirpy and gone off to the sodding shops himself.

That’s when it hit me. I have taken on the “mother = packhorse” mentality. Like a little pony trudging up a mountain, carrying a huge burden, I lift the weight of the family To Do list onto my back every morning.

Need a mortgage? I’ll sort it. Need some clean clothes? Consider it done. Need a shopping list? No problem. The basics of living as a family always seem to fall to me, along with the usual pressures of work. Added to that the fact it’s the summer holidays and there is no pre-school until September, I’m trying to be Super Mum as well as Super Wife. And it’s stupid.

The thing is, my husband hasn’t asked me to do any of these things. He’s more than happy to pull his weight and take on an equal role. Being a teacher, he’s on school holidays at the moment too, so it’s not like he doesn’t have time. But I haven’t let him. Rather than sitting down and saying, “Look, this isn’t working. I’m frazzled. You need to start noticing things more and doing stuff,” I just stomped on down the hill without even questioning why he’d been sitting on the sofa all morning.

Later, when we had our chat, he told me Frog had been up three times in the night but I hadn’t heard her, because I’d been fast asleep. He knew I was tired, so he’d got up with her and, as a result, was exhausted. Fair enough really.

Still, I’m now going to stop the instant “I’ll do it, I’ll sort it, leave it to me” attitude. In this house, mother no longer spells “packhorse”.

There may be no clean pants for a while.

Photo Credit: Keith Marshall via Compfight cc

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