Louise, The Dogs And The Words

With the recent news that Brexit will be fine as the government are stockpiling food and medicine I can't help but feel utter dread and fear. Why on earth are we putting ourselves in a situation where we need to stockpile food? Why is our government not just saying "actually no, we thought we could sort out a good deal for Brexit, we can't. If we do it our country will be in it's knees. You've elected us to look after your best interests so we're putting a halt to this whole sorry mess"? Yet somehow we seem to be taking the result of the advisory referendum as gospel, listening to the narrow majority that voted based on actual lies. Why isn't someone putting a stop to it? I can only assume the government has a genuine fear that if they don't follow through on Brexit there'll be civil unrest. Meanwhile here the rest of us are being guided by a government determined to listen to voices that know what they want but have absolutely no clue how

My old school got demolished yesterday. It's been rebuilt, all shiny and new with steel and cladding in lieu of plywood and asbestos. They even demolished the old part - Haggas Hall - which quite frankly should have been listed. This, however, is not the history I feel most sad to lose. Deep within the school was a special place, a place I felt at home after I'd been the most confused and lost I'd ever been. Strap in, you're about to hear a mental health story… In 1995/6 I missed 6 months of school when I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I remember it very vividly, I was sat on a table in Mrs Sweeney’s classroom down by the PE rooms, next to the exit to the all weather pitch (famously known as the pitch that was crap in all weather). One minute I felt fine, the next I felt dizzy, panicked and unwell. I had caught a virus which subsequently went on to deplete my stores of serotonin. Goodbye happy. Hello depression. I withdrew into myself, hiding in my be

I've always been a fan of trees, they always look like they know a lot of secrets. I met this tree today. I liked it very much.  I really wanted to climb it but a) I'm terrible at climbing and b) it was too hot! It was the kind of tree that looked like it should come to life and play a part in taking some hobbits to Mordor. Or maybe it was the tree Enid Blyton wrote about in The Magic Faraway Tree.  Or perhaps the Quangle Wangle lives up there with his enormous hat. This is what my brain does when it sees something noteworthy, it filters for stories I've read, and then tries to add in it's own. My imagination sparks off and all of a sudden I see fairies flying round, pixies dancing and fireflies lighting the way. Sometimes if I'm lucky a whole story springs from it. Sometimes it's just a fleeting daydream. That was all I got today, a daydream and then back to reality for a walk through the park. 

Oh villainous insect angrily buzzing Body striped yellow and black An unwelcome picnic invader Who keeps on coming back Children run and scream in fear As they spot you flying round Don't sting me please! You hear them cry And yet you continue to hound Flying, swooping, following close Uninvited picnic guest Yet still you continue to harass Whoever suits you best Begone they cry but you don't see The fear that you instill Buzz buzz, buzz buzz, buzz buzz you cry Flying round... until... THWACK!

As I sit here pondering how best to fight through this writer's block I'm distracted. I've always had my concentration easily broken by noise and living in this house there is a lot of noise. Today's distraction comes in the form of voices, foreign voices speaking on code. You see Simon is a radio ham. This means he is in to amateur radio, he's on holiday from work and all say his Yaesu ft-1000 has sat in the corner of the room hissing and talking at me. It's quite relaxing, white noise, yet at the same time makes it almost impossible to hold your concentration.  I've written a few poems for Simon's blog before at www.hamradiooperator.blogspot.com  and he's always pestering me to write more. It is however a very limiting subject so it doesn't really spark the poetry imagination. I did write him a ham radio limerick but I'm not sure if he thought I was taking the mickey (I half was). An Amateur Radio Limerick There once was a r

Throughout my adult life I've never known what I wanted to do. I've had jobs I've enjoyed and been good at but they've never been my true passion, I've never really known what my true passion was. Then I held my 7lb 3oz baby in my arms.  Life suddenly made a lot more sense. Caring for this little person was something I enjoyed and was good at. So I had another.  I was good at it the second time round too. Now my younger baby is 4, in September she starts school and I am heartbroken, the only job I've ever excelled at is being stolen from me by a primary school. I know I'll still be mummy but my precious daytime hours, spent at parks, making things, learning about wildlife and general exploring will be replaced with housework (as I'll have no excuse not to do it now) and dog walking. Things are about to change and I'm scared. Scared I'll miss it terribly, scared it might affect my mental health, scared I'll miss it so much I think anothe

This blog wasn't meant to be a cry for help from an overwhelmed mother but somehow that's what it appears to be morphing into. Today I am looking round my house despairing at the state of it. I found a solution though. This lovely sign I bought from the shop that will bankrupt me - B&M. See, that makes everything better! I am forever amazed at just how much mess two small children can make. It's a special gift they have. An exhausting, special gift. Mess I left the room for ten minutes To hang the washing out You were curiously silent You did not scream or shout I would have been suspicious As I opened up the door If I'd known you were about to throw Everything you own upon the floor Toys were strewn all over And I didnt have a clue How you'd crept so very silently For you were only two The place looked like a war zone It really was a mess How you managed to make such a tip I can never guess (And repeat for 15-20 ye

We've all seen her. That mum who looks like she's fallen off vogue magazine. She looks amazing, the embodiment of grace and calm. Then there's me. I look like I should still be in bed. An Ode To The Glamorous Mum Oh glamorous mother at the school gates How I wish I could be just like you But I'm sat here in sweatpants with messy hair And a great big hole in my shoe I envy your make up and how you found the time While I rushed around ushering my brood Into the kitchen, swearing under my breath While trying to ply them with food I look like I've fallen straight into my clothes As I rolled with no grace from my bed While you're freshly turned out and you look like you've fallen Straight from a catwalk instead Tell me your secrets oh glamorous mum How I desperately want to be you But I just can't find the time needed to preen I guess that I'll just have to do

I studied the EU at university. Three years looking at how it worked and what it did. I still didn't feel educated enough to be the one to decide whether or not it would be financially beneficial to leave the European Union. We have politicians and quangos to decide that. Educated people who know the ins and outs of global trading and economics. My gut feeling was stay, we're stronger together. Look at big business, the bigger the conglomerate, the better the deal. It's also a massive peace project set up after the wake of WW2 - I like peace. Who doesn't? I describe the referendum as the equivalent of choosing your mortgage based solely on which bank logo you prefer. We were given no fiscal predictions, no plan. Nothing. I voted to stay. Oh and Lloyds, obviously, because who doesn't like horses? We all know more of the registered electorate voted Leave yet here we are, no further away from the EU we were meant to be leaving. It's almost as if the governmen

Sometimes it takes me hours to think of poems, other times inspiration can come from someone saying, or me seeing a phrase written somewhere. A while ago I crocheted a pink unicorn for my youngest. The opening line of the pattern said "Are you a unicorn lover?" This next poem was born. I can only apologise! Unicorn Lover Unicorn lover always has the horn Last thing at night and first thing in the morn Galloping through fields and under rainbows He puffs out his chest and strikes a sexy pose Unicorn lover with rainbow mane so bright With eyes all a sparkle and body pearly white Uses his magic to give you the best time Unicorn lover how I wish you were mine The unicorn in question

Last night I was asleep by 9pm, this was largely due to some impressive sinusitis. I slept right through until the sun decided to make an appearance at about 4 am, something I've been doing for a while now and it's getting really very tedious. Especially because 7 times out of 10 I'm not the only one the sun manages to wake up. Expectation: Early Morning Those morning rays upon my face Should make me feel delight That I am now awake once more After sleeping all the night But at half past four I am dismayed  For it is not yet day I moan to myself and put my head Underneath my warm duvet Just a little bit longer I plead to the Sun It's too early for me to arise Wrapped up warm I'm sleepy again And I gently close my eyes Reality:  Lie in? Mum mum! I need a wee Mum mum!  Can I turn on the tv? Mum mum!  I'm starving now? Mum mum! My sister's a cow!  Mum mum! She hit my leg! Mum mum! I want some egg

I am not a football fan but I can't help but be swept up by this World Cup hysteria. My limited understanding of the whole thing is that the footballer who once missed a crucial penalty in a world cup has been responsible for making England better at football than they've been in a long while. Here's roughly what I expect Gareth Southgate has said to achieve this miraculous feat: Football Kick the ball In the goal Not in the air Or down a hole Not up a tree Or at a cat But in the goal Just like that Kick it hard Them some more Between the posts Then you score Kick that ball Kick it best Be better Than all the rest I'm not sure if England will bring football back home, I hope they do, but if not I hope people appreciate how far they've already dragged it - considering last year our time looked like a lame dog limping out for one last walk. We have national hope again and I like the feeling of unified joy, however long it lasts.

Today my imagination is in a bad mood.  I asked it to write me a poem but it's far too sunny a day to share the utterly depressing verses it has thus far managed to produce. It's a sunny day and frankly we can all do without feeling glum. As I've nothing nice to say I won't say anything else at all (a mantra I think the entire Internet needs to take on board). Instead here's a picture I took while walking the dogs earlier, because even when you're in a bad mood there's beauty and joy to be found if you take a moment to look for it.

My name is Louise and I am rubbish at housework. There. I said it. There's stuff all over and I'm so overwhelmed I often just sit with a cuppa unsure of where to start. Today, after vacuuming, while procrastinating which area of my bomb site I should tackle next I remembered I'd never written a Haiku before. Cleaning averted. Challenge accepted. Cleaning - A Haiku The room is messy I wait for it to tidy itself It does not

I always imagined bedtimes with children to be a beautiful bonding experience; a story, a lullabye and smiles as they delicately drift off to dreamland. Then I had children. Initially bedtime was something I just dreamed about. Somehow despite watching a shed load of Supernanny prior to breeding I still ended up cosleeping,  at one point with four of us in a super king sized bed. We only managed to get them into their own beds by swapping bedrooms one night. They've now got the lovely purple room that goes with our  bedding and we're in a wonderfully clashing yellow room. Nowadays bedtime is more like a scene from a post apocalyptic nightmare. Two kids running wild refusing all reasonable commands until you eventually wrestle them into their bedclothes and threaten to feed their supper to the dogs. It's tied with the school run as my least favourite time of day. When I do finally get them to sleep after cuddling the little one to sleep ( bog off Supernanny it would be t

A parenting forum's a dangerous place Opinions and bitching galore But I've done some research and discovered for you Something that's never been found out before Just how to be the perfect parent A secret that I will now tell Follow key points and see Just how great you will be Ignore and you'll end up in hell Breastfeed of course, condescend those who can't Wean immediately at 6 months old Do it only indoors so not to offend Breastfeeding's disgusting you know Use only reuseable cotton nappies If you don't then a dolphin will die Put baby in their own room, no co-sleep Pick them up, wait! No, leave them to cry When weaning feed them only on no-gm organic fresh soylent chow Hang on why aren't you still breastfeeding? Why give a baby milk from a cow? 5 a day? Make it seven. But none of them fruit. Already have? Do you know what you've done? Fruit's filled with sugar a no-no they'll get fat and their teeth will fall out

After a night of very little sleep due to a coughing, sickly child there's only one thing to do. Write a poem Sleep Pull back the covers of your cosy warm bed Snuggle right down as you lay down your head Slip off to dream land, closing your eyes Relax… unwind… Til a voice starts to cry “MUMMY! MUMMY!” the voice starts to scream “MUMMY I NEED YOU! I'VE HAD A BAD DREAM!” Sleepily, dozily, you stumble in To try and appease the cause of the din “it's OK my love, go to sleep, don't be scared Your mummy loves you - I'll always be there” The child’s sleeping soundly, you start counting sheep In a desperate attempt to head back to sleep Until “MUMMY I'M THIRSTY I NEED A DRINK” You dive out of bed as quick as a wink A glass of water on hand to quench the thirst You offer it up but they fall asleep first Back to your bed you wearily wander And pull back the cover and quickly dive under Until “MUMMY MUMMY I'M FEELING SICK!” Yo

Today my energy has disappeared. It's the result of a week and a half of stress, I think a list might be easiest at this point: A bathroom pipe leaked, spilled all over the floor and started leaking through the ceiling into the kitchen (Simon fixed it the same night but not until we'd done number 2 in the list). Two anxious doggies needed their inoculations so we spent ages at the vet getting it sorted with two overexcited children. A few days later my car broke. Coolant was pouring out of the bottom of the car so I had no vehicle for a while which was problematic due to 4, 5, 6 and 7 in the list). My car broke on shopping day! I had very little food in the house. My parents came over the following day to take me to aldi so I could feed us all. I then had to be up at school the same day with the youngest for her first transition day to full time school (MUST. NOT. CRY). My parents dropped me up and I did get sponge and custard so it wasn't all bad. I then chose to wa

Every so often poems I've written years ago pop into my head. Today in the sunshine this little fella was enjoying some of my plants (as you can see I'm no photographer)! A poem from years ago popped into my brain. The Bumble Bee Little buzzy bumble bee Buzzing round for all to see Zipping round for hours and hours Pollinating all the flowers Furry body, shiny wings Be careful sometimes he stings It's a cute little poem clearly aimed at children but it always makes me happy. I've also got one about a caterpillar with deliberately appalling grammar which I may share with you all one day.

The first critic's review of my blog is in. I'll take it with a pinch of salt, these guys have no taste - they eat grass.

Ever since I've had kids my tummy isn't so flat anymore. The thing about having kids is unless you are willing to put in A LOT of effort your stomach is always going to end up looking a little like a deflated balloon. I was a bridesmaid for my sister earlier this year. I did sit-ups, exercised and was hungry for a whole month beforehand. I felt amazing. Yet when the photos came I saw this slightly plumper version of the me I imagined in my head (I'm 5ft 4 and a size 12 so understand I'm probably being mean to myself) and that was the point I decided the effort wasn't really worth it. Today (Sunday) is hot. I've filled up the paddling pool and been sat in it in my swimming costume. My costume is at least 15 years old and no longer offers any of the support I need. I can't imagine what the neighbours must think. Meawhile Simon has spent the weekend ripping my car apart. The water pump decided it wasn't playing anymore and decided to leak a river of p

My youngest child starts full time school in September, which is in part the reason I've started this blog. I've been lucky enough to be a stay at home mum for the past seven years. That's consisted of an incredible amount of messy, craft based play, local parks, soft play and budgeting like a mad woman (I can feed the 4 of us for £65 a week). It's been amazing, challenging, fun and all-consuming.  Now I'm entering into a phase where I'll have me-time. I know I need to create an income somehow but first I need to try and follow my passion. That's writing (and sarcasm and crocheting, but mainly writing). Now is my chance to have a crack at it. So here we go. However, with the idea of me-time comes reflection and introspection.  With me, that comes in the form of guilt. Have I made the best of every day with my kids? Did I make the right decision to stay a home with them? And as always, out of self-reflection comes poetry... Guilt Did I spend enough