FIFTY?!

I’ve found meself caught in a trap, sinking fast in quick sand, set by the dastardly hilarious Amanda from City Girl Gone Coastal. Ya see, little Amanda, let’s call her Mandy, she’ll love that, Mandy is making a stand against Twitter’s 140 characters, she wants to know about you *points at you*, she wants to know FIFTY (yes, FIFTY, FIVE ZERO, SERIOUSLY) things about you, she’s even started her own blog hop, so dedicated she is to her cause!

I’m seeing this as more of a challenge than a chance to waffle nonsensically about my breakfast, which was toast incidentally if you’re interested, if you’d rather stick your fingers in your ears and shout “LALALALA” at the top of your lungs, I understand. I mean honestly, fifty things? I’m struggling to remember my own name at the moment.

thingy

 

Fifty bite sized pieces of useless information about MummyNeverSleeps, *shrug* let’s DO this!

1. My mum was 41 when she had me.

2. I have five tattoos, I want need more.

3. It is physically impossible for me to say the word “anomaly”.

4. When I meet new people, and introduce myself as Cas or Cassie, they think I have a lisp and that my name is actually Cathy. WTF that doesn’t even make sense. It usually takes several attempts, sometimes even writing my name down on an old receipt from my handbag to get my point across.

5. I often wonder if my life is being filmed, Truman Show styley, or a poor Beadle’s About perhaps.

6. I have a fairy light problem.

7. And a bunting problem. Yes, I realise this makes me sound obscenely twee.

8. Yet, I don’t own an oilcloth floral apron. I’d like to keep it that way.

9. Any foodstuff that includes the words “caramel” and “sea salt” I have to buy it. Have to. I know, I didn’t know what to do with the caramel sea salt cream from Tesco either, but I bought it anyway.

10. I really want to keep chickens. An army of the feathery bastards. And give them ridiculous names. Such as Cuthbert. And Drucilla.

11. I used to run a pub. I miss it.

12. I can carry five full pint glasses at once. Ya know, without a tray.

13. For years I wanted to name my firstborn son Dylan. Until I worked with someone called Dylan, and realised if I did name my kid Dylan, I’d look like a batshit crazy stalker.

14. I didn’t name my firstborn Dylan.

15. When pregnant, I wasn’t sure if I was going to give Bean mine or his dad’s last name (at the time stuff between us was a bit erm… iffy), until a friend pointed out that Noah Sheppard sounded a bit… um… Yeah. Especially as his middle name was gonna be Joseph. This had to be explained, with diagrams, several times until the penny finally dropped.

16. I can’t drive. Yet. This is most inconvenient.

17. Realising that my slow cooker was not the answer to everything, crushed me inside a bit.

18. The smell of fresh meat makes me gag.

19. I can draw.

18. A few years ago I spent a loooong time researching my maternal family tree, apparently, I’m very distantly related to this dude.

19. I would rather drive 12 inch long nails into my eye sockets than watch a film with Tom Cruise in it.

20. I get uncontrollably irritated when British people say the word “movie”.

21. I understand the offside rule.

22. My favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle is Michelangelo.

23. I’m 5’10.

24. I can’t wear heels. I look insane.

25. I firmly believe that everything should be eaten with houmous.

26. I have PCOS.

27. I’m better at DIY than my OH.

28. Moths scare the absolute shit out of me.

29. But I’m cool with butterflies.

30. I didn’t see or speak to my dad for over nine years.

31. I’m seven years younger than my OH.

32. He thinks I have secret magical talents because I can make Bolognese without a jar of sauce.

33. I finally realised I was in love with him when he gave me a jar of Bovril as a present.

34. I have a fantastic ability to murder all my plants. All of them, without fail. It really is a wonder I’ve kept Bean alive for so long.

35. I think I could have dyspraxia, numbers just do. not. make. sense to me.

36. As sad as it sounds, I was flipping ecstatic when I was told that I needed glasses. I have wanted glasses FOREVER.

37. I can fit my own fist into my mouth, *cough*, anyway.

38. One of my proudest moments was winning a pub quiz, single-handedly.

39. I truly believe my cat talks to me. OH says she’s just responding to my tone of voice. I think he’s mean.

40. I currently have about ten blog posts that I want to publish, but just not sure if I have the bollocks, if there was to be any kind of backlash.

41. I’m genuinely pissed off that cereal companies don’t put toys in the boxes anymore.

42. And why don’t schools have class pets anymore? Disappoints me.

43. Until about a week ago, I didn’t understand what Gangnam Style was, literally no idea. I’m still lost.

44. I like the dance though.

45. I really should be writing something else now. This is my Everest.

46. The last book I read was Marian Keyes – Mystery of Mercy Close. It was good.

47. Whenever someone claims their favourite colour to be black or grey, I revert back into an obnoxious art student and scream THAT’S NOT A COLOUR, IT’S A TONE. coincidentally, my favourite colour is grey.

48. I’m rather contrary.

49. Once when at Upton Park (West Ham’s football ground), I don’t know what we were doing there, my mum was picking up some tickets for my brother or some bollocks, I got bored with waiting around and found myself being chased around the pitch by security and my brother. I was three.

50. I’m genuinely sick of myself now.

If you made it this far, you are my hero. I am sending you a personalised medal with your name etched on it below the I MADE IT THROUGH MUMMYNEVERSLEEPS’ 50 THINGS POST AND SURVIVED.

That actually took me HOURS to write. I still haven’t watched yesterday’s Eastenders, I’m distraught. Anyway, join in, take a look at Amanda’s  Mandy’s blog, she’s terribly clever and so crafty I’m properly jealous. Plus she’s very bloody funny.

Thanks for reading my little love bunnies.

Why?

“Why do you blog?” I hear you ask.

Hmmm, well, sit yourself down and grab a biscuit, not the Bourbons though, dear God never the Bourbons.

I shall tell you my friends.

I blog because pure and simply, I’m so frickin’ lonely.

Yeah. I know. I said the “L” word. WAIT, DON’T RUN!

My current situation is really rather alienating and hard for others to understand. I tend not to go there when speaking to people in everyday life, because it’s a long story and pretty painful for me to describe to new people when put on the spot. I’m ashamed and angry and so scared about the direction our life has taken and it’s not easy to speak about to people I don’t know very well, it’s simpler to not go into details and to even act aloof or cold with a big fuck off “DON’T COME NEAR ME” impenetrable wall stacked around me so I’m not spoken to in the first place. As a result of that I feel so lost and so very alone.

Before I took the plunge in signing this little bad boy up I felt like I was completely losing myself in a sea of Petit Filous and broken crayons. I didn’t and in most ways still don’t know who I am anymore. I know my job titles are now “Mum” and “Carer” but who the fuck am I? Not only that but I’m drowning in my own little world most of the time, and it’s a dark little world and everything quite often gets too much for me. Since having the Bean all but one of my friends have dumped me, I don’t know why but I only have 3 people I can talk to in real life and if I can’t talk about something that’s bothering me, something small can easily mutate into something big and scary.

This little blog is my first attempt at writing for the intention of other people reading it, other than a stint at doing music reviews a few years ago that ended somewhat messily with the editor doing an Indecent Proposal on me, I honestly had absolutely no idea what would come of it, or if anyone would even see it let alone LIKE the bastard thing. I didn’t read “mummy” blogs, I read a lot of beauty stuff so was totally clueless that this community existed and that it is so brilliantly supportive and lovely. Now I feel part of something again, for the first time in as long as I can remember, and that feels bloody nice to a total loner like me.

I blog to remember that I’m Cas, not just Mummy, as wonderful that name is. I blog to remember that I have a mind besides having a scary knowledge of children’s TV characters and theme songs and how to hide any visible vegetables in the bolognaise sauce.

I know I must put people off with some of my um… language or subject matter, and for that I am sorry, I am. However I can’t change that because this is how I think, my mind doesn’t bleep out the fucks and cunts. It doesn’t censor the painful, gory or scary bits and I don’t think my blog should either.

I blog to unload, to be able to breathe again, to feel as though I’m not the only one that finds this motherhood lark a bit fucking difficult. I write about the depression shizz because it saves me paying thirty-five quid an hour to my psychotherapist. An hour isn’t enough for the crap swimming and festering in my mind, I’m afraid. Plus I don’t like leaving a strange building in a busy high street with my eyeliner all fucked up from crying, looks a tad suspect, no? I am a mother, I don’t need rumours flying about that I could be an emotional, somewhat niche call girl.

I’m not able to close that stuff away. It never leaves. I still remember flashbacks of stuff that has happened and my breath catches in my throat and I feel as though I can’t breathe or carry on as normal, well normal for me, until I’ve spoken (written) about it and let it go. And the added bonus of that would be someone feeling able to do the same after reading something I’ve written. I write for validation and to validate others. No, you’re not mental and nor am I, it’s alright, I promise.

I blog for my sanity and to find some peace in my messed up life. My OH reads the odd thing I’ve written but he understands that it’s my space that I desperately need so much, that isn’t scribbled on with stubborn biro or have teeth marks in it like everything else I own. Other than him and my best friend, no one knows about this alter ego I have, and I like it that way. I’ve told my mum a few times about my blog, she seems pretty nonplussed about it, like she is with most things I do, but it’s OK, I don’t need her to care about it or praise me for it now like I did when I would draw her pictures as a little girl. I don’t feel broken or rejected after her stilted, unenthusiastic “Oh… Um…. Well done..?” anymore, because this blog is mine, I fucking love it and in turn it is helping me love me a little bit once more.

***

This post is a meme. I was tagged by Sara of the brilliant Nothing But Words & Wine, if you don’t know her you bloody well should because she is fantabulous, please do go and have a read of her blog, plus I owe her lots of wine as she has totally saved me from uber blog-block. This being a meme, I must tag another to explain why it is they blog… and I shall choose lovely Steph of the gorgeously written Little E And Bean.

NOW GET THE FRICK AWAY FROM MY BISCUITS.

Saturday Is Caption Day #3

Saturday Is Caption Day

It’s the freaking weekend, biatches! Weekends mean naff all to me other than there being no nursery for Bean, I’m guilt tripped into baking with him *scream* with the added joy of nodding and smiling (i.e not listening to a single word) whilst OH tells me every in and out of the football. Marvellous. Anyway, Saturday equals #SatCap whereby I post a HILARIOUS photo and you sexual lot give it a HILARIOUS caption, innit.  Ch-ch-check out the Fairy Blogmother and ACTUAL AWARD WINNER herself, Mammasaurus for more, much better photos.

Again it’s an oldie, but I tell you the efforts I went to to find this beaut it most definitely isn’t a lazy one. I searched hi and lo for this, climbed on cupboards and everyfink, I tell ya. And yes, that is me, rocking my brother’s Garfield slippers circa ’89.

*gets magic pixie dust* #SatCap awaaaay, my pretties *poof*.

But Why…?

I’ve got me first Meme, ain’t I? If you can’t guess, it’s entitled “Why?” I was tagged by the simply brilliant Five’s A Fellowship, but it was originally originated at Mummy Central, click for the rulez, like. Luckily the Bean has not quite got to the stage of questioning life, the universe and everything, so I’m gonna beat him to it.

Let’s hop to it then… Why?

Do I own this many nail varnishes, that are essentially THE EXACT SAME FUCKING COLOUR?

Do I buy a diary every year and yet always epically fail to write anything more in them than “If lost, please return to…” and doodles of flowers?

Does everything electrical in my house die within 6 – 12 months of it being new?

Do some children’s stories piss me right off?

Is there always more choice for girls than boys in clothes shops?

Can’t I find a cup for Bean THAT DOES NOT BLOODY LEAK.

Don’t I have enough time?

Does Bean’s wake up call for me at 6am always have to be him dive bombing my head?

Doesn’t Bean listen to me?

Does Bean listen to his dad?

Can’t I go to the loo in peace just once?

Can’t I have a pet chicken?

Why does Bean always get shitty planes that I have to build in his Kinder Eggs?

Is it when I go to have a quick shower, the whole house swan dives into meltdown mode?

Doesn’t anything I do, make my bathroom floor clean?

Do I have a perpetual headache?

Can’t I stop thinking of questions?

Can’t I be Nanny Plum from Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom?

Did I just pick that spot?

Are my neighbours so rude?

Does Bean leave his potty in the middle of the floor, so I trip over it EVERY FUCKING TIME.

Does my slow cooker fuck all my food up?

Won’t Bean eat meat?

Do I tell myself every single morning, “Oh Jesus, I’m having an early night tonight.” Yet NEVER do?

Do moths insist in flying at my face?

Does my OH pronounce the word “Owl”, “Al”…?

Does Bean think that anything that has happened from 15 minutes previously up to 18 months ago, was yesterday?

Is there a light in the fridge, but not in the freezer?

Does no one make Cuppa Soup in a bowl?

Don’t cereal companies put toys in the boxes anymore?

Can’t you buy penny sweets anywhere?

Does the cat KNOW that I just bought ham?

Am I always the one that is left with the crusts of stale bread / last of the milk / a bare cardboard tube where the toilet paper should be?

Does anyone named James, Kevin or Richard irritate me?

Do I insist on carrying this much shite in my bag?

Can I not find a tin opener that actually works?

Do I enivitably kill all my plants?

Do I always let my tea go cold before I remember that I made it?

Do I always forget to renew my repeat prescription?

Is everything in my house sticky?

Can’t I pull off “bed head” hair?

Is the kid next door so weird?

Am I still writing down questions?

Me?

There ya go… Apparently I’ve gotta tag 5 people to do this too… I’m truly, very sorry to…

Mummy and the Monsters

It’s Misty Srsly

MS Mummy Of 2

Nearly Everything but the Kitchen Sink

Yeah it was supposed to be five people… What ya gonna do, eh? Karate chop me? Hm?