The Green Food Strike

As most of you are probably aware by now, my kids are pretty crap picky eaters. That’s right. As a mother I have failed to make vegetables fun and fruit smoothies that actually taste good.  So it won’t surprise you to find out that The Kid won’t eat any vegetables and only eats bananas, pears and apples.  

Whoops.

So when The Baby came along, I lived in hope that the allotted fruit and vegetable gene distribution would be kinder to me this time and start dishing out some love. No such luck.

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7 Things All Gross Couples Really Do

They say you’re never more relaxed then when you’re in a relationship….

1.Telling each other that you’ve just had a really good poo. 

It is strangely satisfying.

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The Unsung Mum and Petty Parenteral Expectations

The Unsung Mum woke this morning feeling pretty rad. The Spratts between them only woke twice and even though she was awake most of the night wondering if one of them had been Sprattnapped or eaten by zombies, she feels weirdly refreshed.

That changed pretty quickly thought when The Hub mentioned the word ‘Shopping.’

“No,” replies The Unsung Mum. The Unsung Mum hates food shopping with a passion. Unless it’s after eight pm and she can go alone and casually look round the aisles without having to check what The Kid has sneaked into the basket or search every clothing rail for a hidden baby.

“Well I could go alone…”

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Review: The Unsung Mum and her Flashy New Shirt

Today The Unsung Mum and her friends MouseMoo&MeToo and And Another Ten Things (Sam and Suzanne in real life) are off to the Big Smoke for a laugh and drink, under the disguise of going to #Blogfest16.

The Unsung Mum is very excited about the prospect of a whole night and day away, but a trip without The Spratts brings its own kind of pressures.

It’s like you have to squash all the adulting you can possibly do in those very precious twenty-four hours. These very intelligent and world-wise women (ahem) planned to get a year’s worth of drink, sleep and cake down their necks without anyone humming the bloody Peppa Pig theme tune or fighting over the use of their mobile phones.

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Mums Let Loose

Whoop! The day has finally arrived. You know the one right? This one event that you’ve been planning for months along with the other 6785 parent bloggers who have paid to attend.

That’s right. It’s Blogfest16 baby!

Well, today is the day and everyone who’s anyone can attend.

Wait. Is that Bridie on the phone?

Never mind girls. Who ever said three’s a crowd probably wasn’t a mum anyway.

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Tutters Lip: Self-Immunisation Strategies

If you’ve watched the news recently (and let’s be honest, you’ve probably got time for such leisure because you don’t have kids) then you’ll know that there is a serious epidemic of Tutters Lip currently spreading across the UK.

Myths and conspiracies include:

The primary trigger point for Tutters Lip is the everyday child. The disease is thought to have started in nice cafes and trendy bistros in the capital where parents are preoccupied with life and temporarily unable to dispense disciplinary tactics. A high number of incidents have been reported where patients have been trying to enjoy a peaceful cup of tea, attempting to run the Waitrose gauntlet avoiding buggy lash, or innocently waiting for the local bus.

Unfortunate symptoms may include emitting a devil stare to the perpetrating child, uncontrollable eye rolling towards the parent, and the blurting of heinous clichés to sleep deprived members of society.

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The Unsung Mum and the Halloween Howler

It’s Saturday afternoon and The Spratts are trying on their Halloween costumes for a friend’s Halloween party later on. The Unsung Mum is weirdly chirpy today, and can’t wait to see her little cherubs in their delightful costumes.

Nothing will break her happy mood. Not even when The Kid changes her mind 34567 times over which costume to wear.

The Unsung Mum is not deterred, though. How hard could it be to find a princess ninja spaceman suit?

Grabbing her trusted phone, she starts to google like a fucking maniac on heat, hoping beyond hope that a local shop might still have a few costumes left on Halloween eve eve. While her little darlings are playing quietly, she frantically opens and shuts the front door hoping that Poundland has mysteriously moved next door to her house.

Crap, it hasn’t.

While making a wholesome lunch for her sweethearts, she overhears them playing together and thinks what lovely children she is raising.

‘Right,’ she thinks. ‘I must look harder.’

While The Spratts sit down and eat ALL their lunch, The Unsung Mum quickly scurries through Pinterest and finds some really great ideas from other top mums.

Here we are, a homemade spaceman princess ninja suit. No, wait a second, that’s a fetish site, how the hell did she get there?

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How to Idly Amuse Your Kids This Half Term

If like me, it feels like the last holiday was only five minutes ago, and you still haven’t reclaimed your sanity or made enough money to support another week off, don’t fret, I’ve got you.

Stupidly, we aren’t going away for half term, something to do with The Hub unable to get the week off work, even though I’ve been drumming the dates into him since the start of term.

Funnily enough, he “forgot” to book half term off. If I was a more suspicious person, I’d think that he forgot on purpose, so he doesn’t have to enjoy the fun that is a full week off with BOTH of his Spratts. I keep wishfully thinking about “forgetting” half term and buggering off somewhere for the week, but as I work from home, I can’t think of a good enough excuse that would get me out of it!

There’re a number of things I CAN’T wait to experience again this week, one of them is the over zealous screaming match over who had their eyes on the Barbie that’s been left in the bathroom for two weeks untouched, the other is the unending requests for food they want but then won’t eat.

So in preparation for all this “fun”, here are some alternative ideas for activities to whittle away the holiday in no time. Because, come on, while day trips are all well and good, sometimes just knocking around at home wearing your ten-year-old purple dressing gown and bean covered PJs is all you or your sad looking bank balance want to do.

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The Unsung Mum and the Terrifying Twonado  

It’s early morning and all is quiet on the western front. Which is strange, as The Spratts have been awake since 5.30am and since 5.31am have been shouting, screaming and whining as loud as humanly possible.

Knowing she will pay the price for her lack of parenting later, The Unsung Mum decides to take advantage anyway and puts her feet up, looking forward to a few alone time minutes with a certain Mr. Greg Wallace, when she was suddenly attacked by a great force.Shit.

The offending object, also known as the home phone to more civilized folk, rebounded off The Unsung Mum’s head and hit the floor.

Waiting for her war wound to appear, she silently scrutinizes her second born. Killer look in the eye. Check. Blunt object in hand. Check.

Crap. It can only mean one thing.

Babyhood has gone and toddlerhood part 2 has begun.

The Unsung Mum wonders how the hell she missed it. Had she suddenly run out of brain room and just forgot about this part or had it really been that traumatising the first time that she blanked it out.

The Unsung Mum, deciding to take the offending object, paid the ultimate price.

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Collab: F*cking Annoying Gym Types

It’s guest post time, and as normal, the amazing Sam at Mouse, Moo & Me Too has bloody nailed it.

 My complete opposite exercise wise, Sam nails why going to the gym in the dead of night can have you sweating your ass off next to the…errr…more eccentric of society.

 Enjoy!       

Now that I’m the proud careful lady owner of two children who sadly can’t be left unattended in the house, I have to keep rather unsociable hours at the gym. I’m talking your 9pms, your 6ams, the real arsehole time slots that simultaneously bring out the devouts and the weirdos.

Why not join me in a game of Gymbum Bingo, and see how many you recognise? (Er, I cross my heart that all links between names and stereotypes are fictitious, honest guv.)

Mike, the abominator
Mike is built like fucking King Kong, and lords it about the hardcore weights section in one of those 80’s vests that has an armpit opening so vast, his entire torso hangs out the side. Mike is aiming to break the world HGV-pulling record, and gurns his way through the weight increments. When he approaches his one-rep limit, he likes to have a friend on standby to brace him in position just in case he drops something and manages to concuss himself, or bust a hole in the gym floor.

Jasmine, the Victoria’s Secret ambassador
Jasmine is sooooooooo fucking pert and pretty. She doesn’t even need to be in the bastard gym. She goes purely to show off her threads, bedecked as she is in garments from the Pink range at VS, with coordinating nail varnish and trainers. Do you know how much that stuff costs? Even with her NUS discount she’s probably spent a good hundred quid on that ONE look. And her winged eyeliner is perfect, and seemingly smudgeproof. Bitch.

Des, the ripened stilton
Des had a heart attack in 1994 and since then, has adopted a militant regime that has turned his calf muscles to sinewy, veined glory. Des wears a headband and pulls his white socks almost to knee height. Des avoids the weight machines in case they send something into spasm, but he will give the cross-trainer a damn good thrashing for a solid hour. He has orange squash in his water bottle, and carries his towel and spare clothes in a Head holdall. Des holds the door open, we love Des.

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