Children & babies · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Love · Marriage · mental health · relationships · sacrifice

Tin Happy Years

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When one hears the word “Tin”, what generally springs to mind is a tin of flaked tuna, a singleton’s serving of chunky vegetable soup or some sugar-free baked beans. A gloopy cocktail of syrup, in a negligible amount of fruit, a fat-free, caffeine-free, everything-free Coke Zero or maybe even a G&T in a slimline can, if you’re really posh. Princes, Campbell’s, Heinz, Coca Cola or Gordons & Schweppes – whatever marketing masterpiece your tin of choice is encased within, at the end of the day, it’s final fate is as of any other cheap, rusty, hollow Tin Can, that is – cracked open, used and emptied, before being slung into the giant gob of a bacteria-infested, creeping crawling cesspit of a recycling bin.

So when my Other Half threatened to buy me a gift of some “Tin” to mark the, quite frankly, miraculous occasion of our Tenth Wedding Anniversary, you can imagine I was less than impressed. Do I look like I need another sodding Tin Can in my life? Do I not fork out enough money improving the condition of your heart with beans, beans, the more you eat the more you fart? And can I infer from this ever so subtle hint, that tonight’s “Three Tin Can Course” banquet is a notch up on the fare I usually provide? It is indeed hard to fathom how on earth this ghastly metal managed to make it’s way to the top spot marking the Big 10. Why “Tin” has traditionally been chosen to represent the tenth year of a successful marital union is quite simply beyond me. Could it be as trivial as a play on words – tin, ten, ten, tin? Or is there a more subtle hidden irony that Simple Women like me will Never. Ever. Get?

Apparently there is some logic behind the Ten Tin Conundrum. Tin is a soft and malleable metal with a low melting point, which when cast, becomes strong to create a protective coating for other metals. The crème de la crème of Tin does not tarnish or rust, thereby maintaining an untainted and highly polished finish. Tin represents durability and protection and according to ancient civilisations, wisdom, balance and kindness. Without Tin, they say our lives would be lacking mercy and a sense of morality, and our relationships would be much sterner and harsher. “They” are clearly a lot cleverer than I. However, now we’ve cleared up the truth about Tin, its privileged position commencing the Conjugal Double Digits should start to make sense, wouldn’t you think?

So when my Other Half threatened to buy me a gift of some “Tin” to mark our ten years of Holy Matrimony, perhaps this was in fact less of a threat and rather more a well-considered, meaningful act of sincerity and love? Could it be that He truly understood the significance of such a milestone in our lives together thus far? Was his hard and strong outer shell melting away to reveal a soft, molten inner core, gushing with the purest of love? Well, had I actually received said “Gift of Tin”, then I might have believed it. But let’s not get carried away. As with any anniversary, birthday or special celebratory day, at our ripening old age, there is always an air of disenchantment on the horizon. And on this particular occasion, our Tenth Wedding Anniversary (in case you didn’t realise), disregarding the disappointing lack of Tin Gift, not only was I physically as SICK AS A DOG but I was also embroiled in “women’s stuff”, of which I shall spare you any further details. Needless to say, there was disappointment all round. In fact, “disappointment” is a total understatement. This, combined with running around after Three Terror Tots in a Spring heatwave like no other, was enough to send us both over the edge. And apparently, it was my fault. It was all my sodding fault.

“If it’s not a migraine, it’s illness. If it’s not illness, it’s your monthly do. And if it’s not your monthly do, it’s chronic fatigue. In fact Dear Wife of Ten-Tin-Can-Years, it is so Gd’dam “coincidental“, you couldn’t have planned it better yourself. Or could you? For it seems just too “typical” that, on each and every opportune occasion such as this, something always gets in the way of a “Good Time”. Which leads me to question, Dear Wife of mine, is there ever a Good Sodding Time for anything more meaningful than shovelling up shitty nappies and continuing to hum nursery rhymes in solitude to oneself, after ten years of marriage and three kids?”

And breathe. If you’ve read my post The Seven Year Itch, you’ll realise that nothing much has changed in three years. And if you’ve also read my post The GR, you’ll know that with a miserable cow of a wife for 10 years, He is well within his rights to be pretty damn peeved. So having found other ways to pacify Him, such as food, complements and other unmentionables, let’s now remind ourselves of why we’re here discussing love, life and Tin in the first place. Three happy kids, three happy homes, a zillion happy holidays, seven happy cars, a loving family and a bunch of happy-clappy friends = Ten Happy Years. Now stop complaining and crack open an ice cold Tinny.

 

 

Home and Family

This Will Never Be Normal

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I woke up this morning to the devastating news of a terror attack just a few miles away from where myself and my family had been sleeping soundly. A large-scale attack on innocent people with extremely grave consequences: 22 fatalities and scores of wounded, a third of whom are children. And that is so far.

I woke up this morning to the terrifying reality that is the world into which I am bringing my children. I needed to explain to them over their Cheerios and Weetabix that today had brought some very sad news in town, about one baddie versus a lot of goodies, about many people going to heaven together and about why and how such evil can possibly exist. I woke up this morning not well versed to have this conversation, unsure of myself and unprepared.

But as I spoke the words, in a language I hoped they would understand, I wasn’t really present. I was already consumed with how and when I would have to broach Part Two of the terrible story that was unfolding before their very innocent eyes. The part where it was revealed that this was not an isolated incident and where they might see and hear of such depraved, wicked actions and real-life evil monsters and terrifying scenes playing out over and over again in their precious lifetimes. The part where it would all sadly become the norm.

But then I woke up this morning. I woke up to the fact that this is not normal and this can never be normal. I read of homeless men cradling the dying, of the emergency services “falling as if from heaven”, of wounded women ushering other people’s children to safety. I read of queues to give blood, of hotels giving shelter, of cafes offering food, of taxi drivers turning their meters off. I read of countless more acts of selflessness, kindness, unity and love. And I realised that our city and our nation will never allow this to become normal. We will never allow ourselves to be dulled into submission, defeated by cowardly acts of terror.

This is not normal and never will be.

I woke up this morning and for that, I am truly thankful.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all those who have been affected by last night’s atrocity.

Children & babies · General parenting · Health · Home and Family · mental health · Motherhood · Mum · Personal development · sacrifice

The Magic of Space

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When your Mother buys you a book with 248 pages solely dedicated to transforming “your home into a permanently tidy, clutter-free space,” and with the precursor, “You’re probably not going to like this Dear,” you know you’re in trouble. Last year and crucially, last year, my Mother gifted Marie Kondo’s “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying” to me. And since last year, have I even picked it up? No way. For when my Mother, in an pre-meditated act of pseudo-kindness, bought me a Zen-shmen, Japanese sensation of a book, containing “simple and effective ways to banish clutter forever”, I had no choice but to interpret this as a tactless and underhand move, an insult plain and simple. Continue reading “The Magic of Space”

Children & babies · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Motherhood · Travel

MayDay MayDay

Happy May Day! Luckily for us Great Brits, this year May 1st fell on a Monday, which meant another Glorious and Great British Bank Holiday for us all to enjoy. But today wasn’t going to be about BBQ’s, queues and booze. Today was to be about fun and frolics at the village fete, fairies, faun, flowers and phallic looking poles for us to prance around. Today was to be Pimms and lemonade on the lawn, followed by a raunchy summer romp in the miscanthus giganteus (that’s a large grass, just in case you were mistaken), finished off with the crowning glory of a beautiful May Queen. Happy May Day indeed. Could it possibly get any more pleasurable than this? Continue reading “MayDay MayDay”

Children & babies · Choice · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Motherhood · Mum

The Great British Bank Holiday

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Roll on the Great British Bank Holiday. A delightful long weekend in which important, tired and hard-working people get to rest their weary heads, and less important but equally as tired and hard-working FTM’s get to, quite frankly, carry on regardless. A joyful time in which the Great British Public love to either a) inebriate themselves over three consecutive days, whilst manning a succession of dwindling tinfoil BBQs in the pissing rain, wearing T-shirt and shorts, b) spend quality time with husbands, wives, partners and children, engaging in cohesive and incredibly fun activities, such as Twister, Jenga and Junior Trivial Pursuit or c) a bit of both, more commonly known as boozed-up childcare in the rain. Whichever way you choose to spend your Bank Holiday though, one thing is for sure: The Great British Bank Holiday simply wouldn’t be the same without a Great British Queue.

Continue reading “The Great British Bank Holiday”

Children & babies · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Motherhood · Mum · sacrifice

The Resurrection

The GR has resurrected herself. Bang on cue. Just in time for Easter. It’s Day 1 of the “holidays” and her timing is impeccable once again. Her little-black-cloak has been dry-cleaned, in honour of the numerous jollifications planned and her scythe has been sharpened, ready to strike anyone or anything that, quite frankly, has the audacity to Gd’dam breathe. Approach at your own risk.

Continue reading “The Resurrection”

Choice · fun · Home and Family · Marriage · Personal development · sacrifice · Travel

Call me a Fool, but…

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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…”

Children & babies · Choice · Friendship · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Mum · sacrifice · Travel

Car Share

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So here’s the thing. For the past year or so, I’ve been involved in an arrangement. A you-scratch-my-back-and-i’ll scratch-yours type of thing. In fact, I could easily go as far as to call it a relationship. A mutually beneficial, reciprocal kind of relationship, which saw its inception at the school gates. At first I was dubious, but after several rides, I was hooked. And so was She. Soon there was little alternative – we’d be lost without each other. Continue reading “Car Share”

Choice · fun · General parenting · Home and Family · Motherhood · Personal development · sacrifice

Diary of a Wimpy Mum

Recently, I was out on an adult-only evening which involved completing a meal in its entirety, whilst simultaneously engaging in civilised conversation, when my very adult friend asked if I would like to join her new book club. A book club? [I scoffed]. Now there’s a laugh. Isn’t that where grown-ups meet on a regular basis to unlock the hidden depths and common threads running through mutually selected texts, whilst nibbling on fancy flavoured nuts and tippling on tiny tots of sherry? My very adult friend took a sip of her robust-looking red, whilst I choked on my neon-looking pop and declined her invitation promptly. Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets would be lost on her club.

Continue reading “Diary of a Wimpy Mum”