Happy April Fool’s Day to all you old Fools out there. Another ludicrous day to mark something or other ridiculous. With its origins dating all the way back to the 14th Century, apparently April Fool’s Day is good for one’s health – a tonic to encourage laughter, diminish stress and reduce the strain on one’s heart. That would be for all of 24 hours. And then it’s back to normal Folks – we can carry on being miserable buggers. Phew. Continue reading “Call me a Fool, but…”
Apparently I have a new pet name. I call it a “pet”name in a last-ditch attempt to glean even the tiniest scrap of cuddly, candy-floss cuteness from it’s damn-right pettiness. Today and only today, I am willing to call it a “pet” name, in the spirit of February 14th (AKA Valentine’s Day), on which day surely everyone is entitled to a bit of petting. However, on every other day, it’s a nick name at best, an insult at worst. Continue reading “The G.R”
Since becoming an FTM, I figured that it was about time I stepped up to the plate and become an FTW at the same time. Yes, that’s right. A full-time-mum and a full-time-wife. A mean feat after nearly eight years handcuffed together in sworn allegiance. But with two for the price of one, my other-half was going to be overjoyed. So how could I deprive him any longer? Continue reading “The Full-time Wife”
Last week the Mr and I celebrated having survived another year of marriage, quite remarkably, to each other. And what better way to mark yet another year of wonderful wedded bliss and matrimonial melodramas, than by having ourselves a very clean weekend away with one another. Plus two.
Happy anniversary Darling.
You see, my old fellow and I are not the most romantic duo you’ll ever meet. Romeo and Juliet we most certainly are not. Having booked this months in advance, as less of a pre-planned anniversary treat and more of a timely coincidence, the only thing on offer this weekend was an advance purchase rate and a couple of complimentary chocolate chip cookies. And with myself, the hormonal back-seat driver, and our very own double-trouble, squabbling, squawking, terrible twosome in tow, our celebratory cruise down the motorway was doomed from the outset. Continue reading “The Seven Year Itch”
It’s 10.36 on a Saturday night
And I’m in bed.
I’m in bed with a reputation that is starting to precede me.
Dinner-party done, table tidied, guests gone.
It’s only 10.36 pm and already I’m tucked up, amid crisp white layers of laundry-fresh bedded bliss.
Delicious it may sound, from time to time, either alone or with a significant [or not so significant] other. But don’t be fooled, this is no luxury. The Ten O’Clock Rule is a self-inflicted, self-regulated body-clock bootcamp. One that, might I add, is far from being relegated to school-nights only. No. The Ten O’Clock Rule has long since daily ruled this roost.
And it’s beginning to rule my life. Continue reading “The Ten O’clock Rule”
Recently I had a date. Boyish good looks, medium height, of average build. Rugged [from afar], unshaven [from up close]. Big brown eyes, floppy hair, T-shirt, jeans, holes, creases – the works.
Oh and married.
Double trouble? Apparently not. For, despite his 1 out of 10 for effort, my internet-acquired beau and I had rather a lot in common. Six years and nine days of ever-so holy matrimony and two ever-so cleverly created children to be precise. So what was with the date? Continue reading “Marriage Management”
He’s not the jealous type. My old man.
But last week I suspected that something was meddling in my marriage.
A third party.
Regrettably not another man and thankfully not the mother-in-law, this “third party” [AKA my guilty pleasure] had surreptitiously stolen its way into the holy matrimony and eloped with my heart and soul, body and mind. Poaching every precious moment, monopolising every meticulous thought.
And my other half didn’t like it.
Not one little bit. Continue reading “The Inanimate Love Triangle”