wtf - mocha beanie mummy

Snowmageddon my arse.

January 18, 2013 By mocha beanie mummy 6 Comments

You know what much of the UK sucks at doing? Maintaining a level of common sense. For. REAL.

We’re currently experiencing “Snowmageddon”, whereby people have been out panic buying food and fuel (fuel? Why? Surely that cancels out panic buying food if you’re not planning on going anywhere?) in preparation for The Worst Snow Ever.

Now, granted when I started taking my photos for this post, there was barely any snow. I did the school run without so much as batting an eyelid, as there was maybe half an inch on the ground. And look at it! It was fucking freezing, but quite nice to see.

I confess the footprints shot made me laugh. It started off as poignant and stuff, and then it just ended up looking like a penis letting out it’s load.

HARD. CORE.

in case you didn’t know, I absolutely fucking love the snow. As it turns out, we live in the UK where we (barely) have 4 seasons a year. One of them is winter. Winter involves snow. Snow is cold. So it falls in winter. Which is one of the 4 seasons. There are 4 seasons in the UK. Every year. More often than not, usually, without fail. So really, really, people should be clued up about the fact that snow pretty much WILL HAPPEN AT SOME POINT, no? Also, the whining and complaining? Here’s a tip – may I suggest another country? There are some places which are slightly warmer than here, and if you go to the right part, don’t see snow very often. Egypt, for example. Or perhaps, Dubai. Or maybe the Sahara Desert?

Now, as far as I’m concerned, the photos above are absolutely no kind of Snowmageddon. However, it’s been snowing heavily non-stop since I took these photos (about 2 hours ago) and looking outside now, I think I might be a bit fucked for the school run. Huh.

Filed Under: AWESOMENESS, SNOW, wtf

On Discovering Kids Have PMT

December 17, 2012 By mocha beanie mummy Leave a Comment

I do not know WHAT the hell is going on at the moment, but I’m pretty sure both Noah and Isaac have PMT.

Or, they’re slowly turning into women.

Or, Jesus SAVE ME NOW, they’re going through puberty already.

I can deal with tantrums and sulky strops and whatever with the best of them. To be fair, neither of them have sulky strops very often, and I can’t remember the last tantrum in this house; it was easily over a year ago.

However. There is a new breed of What The Fuckadoo circulating at the moment, and it seems to involve someone flipping some kind of invisible switch. I was aware of this switch, to be honest. I knew it existed. But what I didn’t see coming, was the speed AND extremities with which that switch could be flipped.

Example. They’re playing on the floor with Lego and a train. Noah is lying in the way, Isaac politely says “excuse me”, and Noah pretty much ignores him, refusing to move. I ask Noah to move, quite sternly, since he’s being so rude. He moves, and then starts crying, really loudly. Isaac carries on playing. I ask Noah what’s wrong and he doesn’t even know.

Umm….say what now?

I tell Noah to stop crying otherwise he’ll go in time out, and if he STILL keeps on going, he’ll go straight to bed. He stops immediately, and then less than 10 seconds later he’s laughing and joking over some music he heard which was his favourite part from a film.

Tear tracks still fresh on his face.

What the ever-living fuck.

As this is one example of about a frillion, from the last 2 or 3 hours alone, I’m sitting here wondering if I ever had PMT as bad as what I’m observing. I don’t think I ever did, but holy crap do I apologise to anyone who was ever on the receiving end. I’m thinking of going into that spiel about toddlers, and kids, and this is what they do, and blah blah it gets worse (or better, fuck only knows at this stage), but I’m sure I gave birth to 2 boys who had no plans on turning into girls.

I guess, and quite fairly, I have to consider certain affecting facts. Like, the imminent Christmas Day Excitement, the hideous dark mornings and evenings, slight disruptions to school with Nativities and parties, the fact that the grass is short, a cat meowed, one of them sniffed, and of course the most important, there’s a number in today’s date.

The closer it gets to the Christmas holidays, I find my train of thoughts flickering wildly. Originally, I was all “HELL YES. They will wake up, I’ll send them downstairs to get muesli snackbars out of the cupboard for breakfast, they can pour themselves some milk from the fridge (doesn’t matter if they spill; it’s a tiled floor and will mop right up) and then they can play with their toys or come watch films on the iPad while I continue to dose until, ideally, 11:30am.”

INSTEAD, I am now thinking “Please God, let them be allowed to go through school all through the holidays and ideally in the evenings and then have someone bring them home and hand them to me for a kiss and cuddle and then someone else put them to bed.”

I’m happy with both of those options.

I don’t reckon I’ll get either of those options.

Filed Under: Isaac, MAKE IT STOP, Noah, wtf

A teeny tiny rant about BACON.

December 13, 2012 By mocha beanie mummy 20 Comments

Yeah. Two words which should never appear in the same sentence – “rant” and “bacon”.

I’ve just been catching up on JMP tweets, posts and Pinterest stuff, when LauraAWNTYM tweets me a link to “22 Terrible Things That Must End In 2013“. I’ll give you a second to go read it.

…

YES. YES I AM AS OUTRAGED AS YOU. STOP TALKING ABOUT BACON? WTF? WTAF??? WTAFMFF*?????

Bacon is the LIFE GIVER OF EVERYTHING.

I will always talk about bacon. It’s BACON for crying out loud. You hear me? BACON.

B.A.C.O.N.

BBBBAAAAAACCCCCOOOONNNNNNN.

…however. I do have one complaint about bacon.

Well actually, to be fair, it’s not about bacon. It’s about a couple of other things, the first one being what people DO to bacon. Like, make it into Bacon Lube, or put it in ice cream, or make vodka or turn it into a nativity scene (what the actual fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you waste time making a nativity scene out of bacon and too much sausage, instead of just eating the fucking bacon? Are you some kind of mental?). JUST EAT THE GODDAMN BACON.

The other thing I have to complain about, where bacon is concerned, is with the people who seem to think I enjoy seeing endless pics of bacon in it’s various mutilated forms. I’m already subscribed to numerous bacon feeds on Facebook, you can bet your ass I’ve seen most bacon mutilations in various forms LONG before they hit your twitter stream or Facebook feed. Fact is? If the bacon, in meat form, is not being consumed on a regular plate, in regular form, maybe with sauce, and some cheese, then I’m not interested. I’ve tried Baconnaise – I gagged. I’ve sniffed bacon lip balm – it’s rank. I’ve eaten bacon crisps – THEY ARE NOT BACON (though to be fair, they do taste good). Give me a fancy bacon scarf, or bacon AND EGGS gloves, WITH matching scarf, or you know what? Just give me a plate of bacon. S’all I need.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to cook some bacon, instagram a photo of it, AND THEN EAT IT BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT YOU DO WITH BACON, INNIT.

*In case you’re wondering, is What The Actual Fucking McFuckity Fuck.

Filed Under: Bacon, wtf

Pwned.

October 16, 2012 By mocha beanie mummy 5 Comments

Last Thursday, we had a letter from County Council A saying they had spoken to County Council B and found a space for Noah in one of the schools we originally wanted. The school is in County Council B. However it was County Council A who wrote to us. We haven’t heard from County Council B in a while. Anyway, I inform current school (in County Council A) that Noah has a place at a closer school, and will be moving at half-term. Huzzah!

So yesterday, we phone up the new school (in County Council B) and they tell us they know nothing of the situation.

Errrrrrrrrrrr say whut now?

The Mr speaks to them again today, this time armed with The Letter From County Council A, and tells the school all we know. Turns out, the school are fine with this, even though they knew nothing about it. Which makes me wonder; if that’s the case, why couldn’t they just take him in the first place, back when we applied, phoned and wrote to them repeatedly in September?

Anyhoo, Noah has a school much closer to home.

Unfortunately, it’s still not the same school as Isaac. And because they are a different County Council (Isaac is currently County Council A, Noah will be in County Council B), it also means their school holidays are different. So where I was hoping to spend some “proper time” with both of them over half term before launching myself back into full time work, instead we will all be pretty much going straight through until Christmas. Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

I’ve calculated that if I keep booking weddings at this rate, we may be able to get them back into the safety and sanity of private school by 2014/15. If I suddenly become SUPER AWESOME, it could even be 2013/14. But I might still have to sell a body part.

And then, because Monday is a fucking douche nozzle and seems to have spilled over into Tuesday, my phone died yesterday. It buzzed non stop for about 3 minutes, then turned itself off and refused to switch back on. Before I had backed everything up. And just after I had told a load of potential clients to give me a call. After procrastinating and being horribly skint and staring forlornly at my bank account, I had stern words with my network supplier and made them do me a half decent deal on a new phone.

And then this morning my phone turned itself back on, completely out of the blue.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKADOO.

In other news, I reckon I’m going to save myself some petrol over the next few months, eh?

Filed Under: asshats, Education, Fucked-Up-Ness, Noah, School, wtf

I TRIED. Urgh.

October 8, 2012 By mocha beanie mummy 10 Comments

Child 1: “I HATE YOU! I don’t like you!”

Child 2: *raises hand in a “talk to this” style*

Parent of child 1: “OI. Do you want a smack? You SHUT IT!”

…

Child running away from parent.

Parent of child: “OI! C’MERE YER LITTLE SHIT!” She looks around. “Oops, I mean, YER LITTLE SOD!”

…

Child running across grass.

Parent of child: “GEORGE! STOP BLOODY RUNNING AWAY AND GET YOURSELF ERE NOW!”

…

I have no idea if this is acceptable to hear for most parents and children out there. The above were three different incidents, albeit small incidents, heard at Noah’s school in the space of 2 days. I have watched children run out in front of cars in the car park, whilst the parent stood by and shouted (rather than actually chasing them, or even better, keeping a hold on them in the first place).

On Noah’s first day, he told me of a little boy who was spitting at him. Obviously I asked him if he mentioned it to the teacher; he had done. The child had continued, but apparently stopped after a little while. Another child in the playground, every single pick up and drop off, is riding a scoot-bike (no pedals), and repeatedly rams into parents and children. He’s hit Isaac numerous times. The mother, stood very close by, does nothing to stop him.

Maybe, just maybe, I set my standards too high. Maybe, I expect to much of youngsters at school (all of the above incidents were with children who could not have been older than 6). Maybe I am indeed a snob, and should learn to accept some kind of regular way of life.

The thing is, I can’t tolerate what I’m seeing. It grates me. It leaves me cold. It makes me cross. I scream repeatedly on the inside. Every single morning and afternoon, I literally run in and out of the school as fast as possible with the boys. I know, I know, we can’t live in a bubble. They have to “experience real life”. I get that. However, there are things I do not want my children exposed to, because it is not a way of life. Not in our house. Not ever.

I knew I had a sinking feeling about the school when we first took Noah, and at the time I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. As we have completed the first week, and starting the second, my desperation to get him the hell out as soon as possible, is making me physically sick. Every single day, I hope and pray to the Gods of The County Councils, that they will phone or write and say that a space is available for Noah at one of the nearer schools. All of which, are gorgeous and lovely and perfect.

I know and trust that Noah is an incredibly sound and level headed boy. I know he has a surprising amount of common sense, and he knows what is right and wrong. But that doesn’t make me feel happy knowing he is exposed to the crap such as that above. I shout and swear a lot. A whole lot. But NEVER, NEVER in front of my children. Or in front of other people’s children. Or in the goddamn school playground; an environment supposedly safe for parents and children alike. (In theory.)

A letter arrived today confirming Noah’s placement on another waiting list at a nearby school. The three schools near us – he is now listed for them all. We have reached the point where there is nothing, nothing more I can do. The school run will continue to try and grind me down, and through the winter I can only hope I make it through without being crushed by depression. I hang on desperately to the fact that I’m booking my weddings next year, with some booked for 2014 already. The hope is getting the boys back into private education by 2014/15.

I just want the absolute best for them. And right now, what I’m giving them sure as hell is not good enough.