It’s that time of year again. Another day to commemorate something or other incredibly meaningful. But this time it’s not International Day of Happiness (that was last week apparently), World Health Day (that’s next week, if you’re interested), or Global Wind Day (this one’s in June, if you celebrate making wind). No, today is all about Me. It’s Mothering Sunday, again. Gosh how quickly time flies. And this year is no different to the past 8 as Mum. Continue reading “Mothering Sunday: The T’s and C’s”
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”
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”