Sunday, 13 January 2019


Last summer I was fat shamed. It was grim. It was gross. Someone photoshopped me thin. I ended up on a website for people who have a phobia of fat people. I was told I was going to die, whale emoijis were left on my pages. The BBC covered it online. It made the comments worse. I started to worry about what I was eating. If I was out and about in public I was really concerned people were staring at me. My Mum said I should stop and go back to teaching. But I didn't with the support of my family and all you lot I carried on. But yesterday I promoted a healthy meal and was shamed again. This time it wasn't "fat cow". But "disappointed", "eye roll", "doing it for the cash". So I'm shamed for being overweight. Shamed for trying to be a bit healthier. And it begs the question. What on earth am I supposed to do?

Over all of my social media there are around 200K people that follow me. Which is AMAZING. And baffling. And of course at times we aren't going to see eye to eye. Totally understandable. Jeez I struggled to see eye to eye with everyone when I worked in an office with 10 people! But I managed it. I managed not to tell them straight to their face what I thought of them. I managed to not have exceptions of them that were unobtainable. But I am increasingly finding myself in the position now that I have to be a spokesperson for all the women (and the odd lovely man) that follows my journey. And it's unfair. And it's really bloody hard.

Trolls will come and go. There are threads dedicated to how annoying I am. I've been told I need shooting. My kids taking off me. The whole shebang. It's fine. It comes with the job. But there seems to be this weird double standard going on. I am meant to be perfect. But perfect for each and every 200K of you. And whilst the 99.9% (to quote Bridget Jones, and we all know I've got her big pants) like me just the way I am. And I thank all you Mark Darcy's out there (god I LOVE Colin Firth). There seems to be a small portion that don't. That expect me to do everything they want me to do. And are quite vocal and angry when I don't.

Please note. This is not the edited thin photo. LOL!


Saturday, 12 January 2019

Kids Birthday Parties. The Dream V The Reality

When I was a kid there were two options. 1) you had a party at home. Non of the parents stayed. Overjoyed at two hours away from their children. You played crap games. Expected to get crap gifts and the party bags consisted of a balloon and a bit of squashed cake or 2) you had a McDonalds party. That. Was. It. And then? Pinterest was invented. And it became a whole new ball game.

Long gone are the days of pass the parcel where you either won. Or you got nothing in between each wrapper. Long gone are the days of musical chairs where you would fight for the death until you got that last chair and the only prize was 'the honour'. Now? It's all shabby chic table displays, face painters, juggling baboons who sing Baby Shark whilst making magic cupcakes with their feet (OK I exaggerated). Unless? You are 'creatively challenged' like me. Full of good intentions. Full of dreams of impressing other parents with my creative flair. But in reality full of sh*t. So here is Kids Birthday Parties. My Dreams V The Reality.



Wonderful Winter Warmers!

The kids are back at school, the final selection box has been eaten and it's time to reign in the never ending eating that took part during the festive season. But the thing is. I really like food. Like LOVE it so I always find this time of year a bit of a struggle. That 'getting back to normal and not eating mince pies three times a day' thing. So when WW (formally known as Weight Watchers) got in touch with me to work on an AD together about their chilled meals. I was like "THIS IS JUST WHAT WE NEED!". Stephen and I are huge fans of the meals, and whilst we have no intention of losing stacks of weight this year. The odd WW meal here and there will help us to eat a bit healthier.

weight watchers meals, ww meals


Sunday, 6 January 2019

17 New School Term Resolutions

1. I will not scream "GET READY" times 5637 each morning between 8am and 8:30am. I won't threaten to take the tablets off my children. Say I am going to ban television or shout "I'M GOING TO PHONE DADDY!" (who won't do anything).

2. I will not fume internally when my children give me the wrong foot for the wrong shoe. Three times. I shall be patient and kind and not say I might ban shoes in the future.

3. I will leave with 15 minutes to spare. I won't in any way shape or form be wondering each day at 8:39am where the hell the time has gone and why my children STILL HAVE NOT GO THEIR SHOES ON.


Friday, 4 January 2019

For When You Don't Want To Sleep With Me Anymore...

To my beautiful boy

Today you turn six. Six! Which I refuse to believe as sometimes when you sleep your lips are pursed and you still look like my chubby baby boy. I know exactly what you look like when you sleep as at the grand old age of six you still sleep next to me. Which to some people seems ridiculous. And I must admit for a long time I thought so to. It drove us all to frustration that you wouldn't last the night in your own bed. Despite us trying for days, weeks, months, years to make it happen. But after a particularly rocky week at school. I gave up. And now our bed became your bed too.

This isn't for everyone. But here is the thing. If you ever decide to have chubby babies of your own I will give you this one piece of advice. As long as you are happy, your partner is happy and your children are happy it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks. Whilst parenting can come with enormous highs sometimes it's just about survival and getting a good nights sleep makes us all happier humans and for now that's all that matters. Because one day. You won't want to sleep so close to me. One day you will want to sleep all alone.

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