Hairdresser hell

What is it about hairdressers? Why do they scare me so much?

I skipped off to the hairdressers today, excited at the thought of having a bit of pampering, being child free for the first time in months and having my tresses cut. I should have known how it would go when I was asked if I wanted a coffee with Baileys in it...it was 9 in the morning!

So, onto what cut I wanted. A nice straight bob please cut just below my ears. "Are you sure you don't want it graduated" no, I just want a plain, STRAIGHT bob please..."really? It would look much nicer graduated and are you sure you want it that short" NO to graduation and YES to length. Phew, got my point across, albeit meekly.

So I bury my head in a trashy magazine and drink my Baileys free coffee. I take a glimpse in the mirror. I'm sure the lengths a bit longer than I asked for...and is she graduating it? I decide I'm being paranoid and carry on reading said magazine (ok, looking at pictures in said magazine). She starts up the hair dryer...I look up...it's a lot longer than I asked and bloody hell she has graduated it. I sit there feeling uncomfortable, I can't talk and I'm trying to perfect a fake smile. Why, why, WHY can I not tell her to cut it like I asked her to? Why did she ignore me? Why ask me what I wanted? I feel my cheeks burning...

Not only do I get a graduated bob thats too long I get one thats wonky, its clearly longer on one side. I also pay £47 for the privilege AND tip her £3. What is wrong with me? Why can't I say I'm not happy and can you cut it how I asked you to in the first place. I don't know what it is about hairdressers but they make me feel like its my first day at junior school. At least it gave my husband a laugh, its usually him that sports the dodgy haircuts, mainly because I cut it.

Wanna get shredded!

So after 3 babies in 32 months I have quite a bit of baby weight to shift, in fact I find myself wondering if Beatrice had a twin and they left her in my mountainous tummy!

Last week I found myself trawling the net to find the ultimate workout, one that could miraculously transport my body back to its heyday of 1994. Well, I think I may have found it, The 30 Day Shred. The trainer (who was overweight herself before developing this routine) promises to change your body in 30 days if you give her just 20 minutes of your time everyday for 30 days. How hard could it be right!?!?

Day 5 and amazingly I'm no longer dying at the end of the workout, I still resemble a beetroot and can't talk to my husband or kids for 10 minutes post workout...but my stamina is definitely improving. Whether it will take my body pre-pregnancy remains to be seen but I'm enjoying having 20 minutes of the day to myself.

The ten minute rule...

Discipline, its something I struggle with, giving it that is. I find myself either feeling bad because I've upset my children or I'm trying to stifle my laughter when mid flow my nearly 3 year old calls me Stinky Pete or tells me to behave. I fear I've said "no" too any times for silly things in the past that now its lost its meaning.

I was talking to my cousin about it and she told me about her ten minute rule. It's a way for grading telling offs. So I now ask myself, will it matter in ten minutes? Will it matter in ten hours? Will it matter in ten days? So I "tell off" according to the grading. It seems to be going well so far, I haven't  been called Stinky Pete for a while but I do get told to be quiet, but I comfort myself with the fact that he says please.

Bye bye Mrs Mop, hi hi Mrs Slop...

Well first things first, baby number three arrived on Thursday 9th August 2012, bump turned pink when Beatrice Ann came into the world kicking and screaming.

So, almost twelve weeks in and my house has turned into what some might say is a health hazard. Gone are the days when all I had to worry about was tidying up a few toys...not only do I barely get the chance to pee i just don't seem to get a chance to (in no particular order) hoover, dust, sweep, mop, scrub, wipe....blah blah bloody blah. I have turned into Waynetta Slob minus the lying about bit. I don't understand why I can't find the time. I see other mums and not only is their house pretty much spotless they also wear make-up (wtf!?!), have painted nails and their hair does not look as though they have a scouring pad stuck to the back of their head...

Maternal instincts?

When I was growing up, I heard my mother and her friends talk about 'maternal instincts', I had no idea what they were and quite frankly I didn't want to know. I was far to busy dreaming of marrying Axl Rose and going off on tour (lucky for me I didn't, have you seen him recently...).

Fast forward a good few years and I absolutely know what they are.

When you have your first child, those first few days and weeks are never quite as you imagined, its a lot tougher, breastfeeding is not so easy, the tiredness is immense but the love you feel for your little baby is unbelievable. Somehow you get through, you learn when your baby needs more food, a nappy change, to be winded etc and you do learn to understand their different cries. This is, I believe, if you don't buy any of those so called 'baby training manuals'. You know the ones by Gina Ford and her cronies.

When I was pregnant with my second child I decided to purchase her Contented Little Baby book just to see what all the fuss was about. I was rather shocked at what I read. Strict routines of when to feed the baby (and when to feed yourself, I kid you not!), when to change their nappy (that would be when its dirty Gina), when they should sleep, when you should wake them (are you kidding, wake a sleeping baby, make the bloody most of it!). While I was reading it, I thought how it does not encourage the NATURAL maternal instinct and how, in fact, it can completely destroy it. I know of mothers who cannot function without GF telling them what to do, its like living in a communist regime. Kids need to be kids and funnily enough, they do find their own routine. Its ridiculous to think that all babies need to go to bed at the same time (do adults?). It makes me so angry that some people seem to try and take away the natural parenting instincts.

Its not just GF. I remember the first health visitor for my son giving us a leaflet on how to play with your child...

So throw out all those baby manuals (and those patronising health visitors) and do it your way, it is after all, the best way.

Tidy, tidy, tidy

As a mum I find myself constantly tidying toys up. My husbands philosophy is to not bother, but I just cannot leave them strewn everywhere for all eternity (his other philosophies include, putting dirty clothes next to the laundry basket, doing the washing-up so badly he isn't asked again, creating such gems as chicken nugget curry and tuna surprise - the surprise being he added green food colouring - so he is never asked to cook again and finally, putting up smoke alarms with sellotape and if that fails, blu-tack!).

I admit that I probably am a little obsessive about tidying up toys, I just like to have a clear path in which to walk and not break my neck by slipping on a racing car. I also find it strangely therapeutic, yes I think that my life has reached the point where I am getting pleasure from putting building blocks back in the toy basket.

But on a less neurotic note, I think its great for the children that their toys keep getting put back in place, just so they can keep emptying them again!

When the little things become the big things

Before babies came along, going to bed early with a cup of ovaltine and a good book wasn't really anything special (in fact I probably would have laughed at the suggestion). But now, well I look forward to Tuesdays - husband at band practise and I get to do the above.  Bliss.

Folds of time

I am a highly emotional person and this only got worse once I became a mummy. Just looking at my beautiful boys can reduce me to tears in a second. Last night I was reading my book and started crying at this beautifully written passage (reminiscing about her now 19 year old son):

" How thin and near-transparent the folds of time are. I could almost step through them into another dimension, where the child Jasper would put his hot, sticky small hand in mine, dragging me towards the swingboats, or to ride his favourite giraffe on the little roundabout..."

My boys are still at the hot, sticky hand stage and the thought that one day they won't reach out to put their little hand in mine burns right through my heart. Time really is so precious. I used to get sick of people telling me when my first son was born to make the most of every moment because it goes so quickly, but my god, how right they all were.