Sarah and Louise

mum's the word

We are the champions, my friend

I have just returned from a summer holiday day out to a local wildlife park. In my mind a “quick run around and a picnic” with my three little darlings would be the ideal way to pass a few hours. No TV, no iPad, no arguments – just wholesome fun!

On arrival however, reality smacked me in the face, like a hot, dusty, screaming kipper. The car park was jam packed with oversized cars (mine included), which made parking a real joy. There were queues to get in, queues to get out, crowds of people in front of every enclosure trying to spot the hidden animals, and many, many hot, tired children demanding ice creams and a trip to the gift shop.

Continue reading “We are the champions, my friend”

Baking Bad

There I was feeling a bit glum, knowing my chances to publish anything on the blog over the holidays were extremely slim given the full on-ness of keeping the children alive and entertained every single day for six weeks.

Then one rainy day the girls had the idea of making a ‘cookery show’ which we could film and show Daddy when he returned from work. In that moment I knew this had blog potential and instantly whipped out the guitar. If Katie from CBeebies ‘I can cook’ sings about hand washing , so will we goddammit. 10 minutes of jang-jangling (sorry Jenny next-door) 3 terrible chords and a quick raid of the dressing up box and we were ready to perform our very own hand wash song.

I set the camera up and let it roll whilst we attempted to make cheesy scones.

It was pretty shambolic if I’m honest and certainly not the slick, professional show that my eldest had imagined. (She was mortified when she saw I had included the ‘accident with the cheese grater’ in the final cut.)

My husband was impressed but felt that, since I had called it ‘Baking Bad’, we needed the  actual Breaking Bad theme tune at the end. A quick Youtube search and another raid of the dressing up box was all it took. Out came the youngest’s ukulele, which Hubby promptly learnt the tune on, using a kaleidoscope as a slide – obvs, a saucepan, a maraca and an old box. The result? Something very bashy , yet strangely recognisable.

So, here it is, our first ever episode of ‘Baking Bad’…

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That’s not Father Christmas, That’s my Granddad!

On Tuesday 2nd August a bright light went out in my world. My grandfather, Peter Wrathall, died after a long and brave battle with prostate cancer. I hate cancer.

Peter was a phenomenal man, who achieved a great many things in his life and he was thus many things to many people. He was a son, brother, uncle, loving husband and father to three boys, father-in-law, dear friend, an outstanding educator and to some people he was “Mr Wrathall” – Headteacher and co-founder of St Faiths at Ash independent school. But to me, he was simply “granddad” and he never tried to be anything else.

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We’re all going on a Summer holiday…

I debated whether or not to post this today. I lost my grandfather yesterday, after a long battle with prostate cancer. I am utterly heartbroken, but he loved our blog because it made him chuckle! (He was a father to three boys, I think he identified with quite a lot!) So I have decided to carry on…


It’s that time of year once more when families across the country take a week or so out to spend some ‘quality time’ together. Sun drenched beaches, beautiful swimming pools, chips at the seaside or if you are like us, a few days glamping in the woods in Wales.

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All the fun of the fair

Last weekend was the summer fair at my daughters school. She’s just coming to the end of year 1 so this was our second experience of the annual event.

The first year it seemed like a fun day out, the sun was shining, there were stalls to look at, a bouncy castle and hot dogs to eat. As rookie school parents it was a pleasant enough experience, a chance to chat to other mums and dads outside of the stresses of the school run and slightly amusing to see the Head Master in jeans.

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I will survive

Parenthood as far as I can tell, is truly a game of survival. It requires the stamina of an Olympic marathon runner (especially when trying to juggle work, sleep, children and life in general) and the ability to fend off dangers from every possible direction. It is without doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My life as a mum of three very rarely reflects the perfect visions I held in my mind pre-children of long happy days at home just playing in the garden and eating wholesome homemade food. Pah!

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If you’re Hippy and you know it!

Following my last post where Louise concluded that I had definitely turned into a Hippy, I thought I would embrace my inner hippiness and carry on! With current events in politics swamping the news with fear and scaremongering I’ve decided to follow the happy festival goers to Glastonbury (in spirit anyway) and join in with the peace and love!

I won’t lie, I am insanely jealous of those in the mud at Glastonbury. There was a time (20 years ago) when Louise and I would pack some clean pants and a few wet wipes in a ruck sack, sling a crate of lager on our shoulders and dance in the mud with the best (and worst) of them!

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And I think to myself what a wonderful world?

I will begin this post with an apology for my recent absence from the blog, at the moment I am in the midst of completing a mountain of course work and trying to set up and operate a new business as well as looking after three children and keeping them all fed and watered. The house is an utter state and there are more clothes waiting to be put away than there are in the wardrobes… terrible mother!

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The one about Soft Play…

If you ever have the idea that you might take your kids to a soft play centre during a school holiday, be alarmed by yourself. You’re clearly not thinking straight, seek help immediately.

In the mean time, here are some more attractive options:

Gauge your own eyes out with a blunt spoon.

Repeatedly hit yourself over the head with a singing Elsa doll.

Have rabid rats nibble your toenails off.

Continue reading “The one about Soft Play…”

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