I’m at a very low ebb

I’m at a very low ebb after a fraught drive to and from Huddersfield with two boys who were intent on kicking the living shit out of each other over the coloured car game.

I told them before the game commenced that the judges word was final and that they couldn’t change colour.

I tell you what though, I wouldn’t touch Adam with a barge pole.

Top Rew
Skirt Zara ages ago
Shoes Zara ages ago
Necklace – ItWasFrom

Fuck the patriarchy!

Fuck the patriarchy!

How to train your sexist little piggies to be less sexist little piggies.

Yesterday morning, just before school there was a gigantic and epic hissy fit thrown by Bella who claimed that her younger brother was sexist. She’s brilliant at throwing tantrums so this was nothing new. I listened to her complaint with interest.

It wasn’t blatant sexism per se. It was that casual, underhand sexism that boys learn from a young age in the playground.

All he stated was that “it’s twice as bad getting burned by a girl!”

If you’re not up on the lingo of eight year old boys, “burned” means “put down” “wittily mugged off” or “verbally chastised in a humorous way”

I talked to him about it and he claimed that it wasn’t a sexist statement. To be frank, he didn’t get what he’d said at all. He’d just copied what he’d heard at school and tried to apply it somewhere to make himself sound cool because he’s a bit of a dick sometimes. He didn’t really understand what being “sexist” was so myself and militant feminist Bella, tried to explain to him.

I’m fucking determined that my boys won’t grown up to be sexists!

I tried to explain it to him in very easy terms whilst Bella carried on foaming at the mouth and claiming that the boys in her class were sexist too. On the way to school I tried to explain in really unbelievably simple terms, female emancipation.

Somebody should make a video game about this subject as that’s the only thing that he’s interested in. It should have a dance in it.

Let me just say that some eight year old boys might get this subject but Oscar was bewildered. Either that or he’s outwitted me and he’s the slyest twat around.

We talked about the suffragettes but he didn’t really get it because trying to explain how government works and how a political party gains power can’t be done in five minutes. Oscar just looked perplexed and asked random weird questions to prove that he understood nothing of what was being said to him.

“So what about the queen Mummy?”

“It’s got fuck all to do with the queen darling, nobody mentioned her!”

As we hurried towards school, late as usual, I explained to him about the eleven year old girl who’d been shot in the head by the Taliban because she stood up for girls rights to education. He seemed to understand this a little better. I thought that the timeframe would be better for him to work on given that it was only a few years ago.

“SHE GOT SHOT IN THE HEAD! AND THE BULLET CAME OUT AND SHE LIVED?”

“EPIC!”

“Yes darling” I said, feeling proud that finally I’d got through to him.

I carried on with my tale of a young girl honoured for her bravery and triumphing in the face of adversity.

As I walked home from school drop off I thought what a clever Mummy I was.

“What nice boys I will raise. They will be domesticated and thoughtful. They will take an equal share of the household work. Their future wives will bow down at my feet and say what a good mother I was to them”

This morning, warming to my theme, I showed both boys the video of the lady that ran the Boston Marathon when women weren’t allowed to. If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth a watch and the comments on it are worth reading too because they are fucking hilarious. It’s doing the rounds at the moment. I explained to him that in 1967 his Nana and his granny Juju wouldn’t have been able to run a marathon if they’d have wanted to because the men said that women couldn’t run that far because they were weak.

“But Nana and Juju can’t run!” Oscar offered as only Oscar could.

“Yes but when they were twenty, if they’d wanted to run a marathon, they wouldn’t have been allowed in the race because of the sexist patriarchal society darling”

As we watched the video of the horrible race official grabbing at our heroine Kathrine Switzer for simply running a marathon, tears ran down my cheeks. I read out the words on the short video explaining how she’d finished in four hours and twenty minutes. Whilst I did this, I internally high fived myself that I’d done better than her because I’m a bitch like that.

“How many marathons has Daddy run darlings?”

“Err none”

“How many marathons has Mummy run?”

“A few?”

“That’s six darlings, six!”

“So fifty years ago women weren’t allowed to run marathons because of male oppression. So you know about sexism now and you understand that you shouldn’t say that girls aren’t as good as boys”

“Oh yeah”

Just then, Dangerous came downstairs and scratched his balls.

“Oscar and Ted have been learning that they aren’t going to be sexist pigs when they grow up! What do you say Daddy?”

“Yeah, where’s the coffee?”

“Darlings tell Daddy what we have learned about sexism please.”

Oscar looked vacant so I jogged his memory

“You remember what we talked about on the way to school yesterday…”

“Yes, Daddy, a girl got shot in the head with a big gun by some bad guys. Her eye was hanging out and her brain was all gooey but she was fine the next day so she came to live in our country!”

“No, we talked about sexism and the oppression of women and girls didn’t we”

Dangerous looks at them and said “an impression of a lady? I can do that..”

And then like the great father and humanitarian that he is, he put on his best falsetto, stood on his tiptoes, to suggest that he was wearing high heals, fluttered his eye lashes and squeaked “I’m a lady, look at me, I’m a lady!”

As a wise woman once said “fuck the patriarchy!” I think it was my militant feminist daughter.

I’m teaching them to hoover up after themselves though. It’s never too early to start.

I am now mainlining Silver Fox Gin whilst wearing;

Zara t shirt from last year about a tenner
Zara trousers from last year – under a tenner
Epic scarf from Rew

Hi my name is Totes

Hi my name is Totes

I am forty five years old.

I swear a lot.

I drink a lot.

I like shopping a lot.

I run a lot.

I can’t see very well.

I’ve got fucking massive feet.

I write a blog.

I’ve got three little shits, a husband and a dog.

I suffer from anxiety.

I have taken happy pills. I decided that I didn’t like them in the end but they did help for a while.

Throughout my life, I have overthought things, wondered if people liked me, decided that people didn’t like me, wondered what was wrong with me and kept myself awake at night.

I have had anxious thoughts about all sorts of normal and some very weird and random things. When I haven’t had anything in particular to worry about, I invent scenarios that could happen to torture myself with. The scenarios are things like “what would I do if the house burned down?” “What would I do if one of the kids died?” Horrible, fearful ideas that consumed me.

Before I had kids, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to have kids.

I lose weight at Christmas because the weight of expectation cripples me.

When I start a new job, it takes me about six months to come out of my shell and start speaking to people.

I have drunk too much.
I have cleaned too much.
I have bitten my nails off.

I’ve done all this for so long that I don’t know when it started. I do know that it started when I was very little. I also know that it became really bad after I had my first child. After that, my anxiety reached fever pitch. I went a bit fucking mental at this point. There was nothing that I didn’t worry about.

I have worried that I’m a shit parent.
I have worried that I’m a shit wife.
I have worried that I worry so much.

And I didn’t tell anybody about it. I have recently but I kept it to myself for so fucking long.

And loads of other people have this too. It’s so much more prevalent than people imagine because we all hide it. We keep it within.

I want to a talk last night about “managing anxiety” and the lady that was speaking explained very eloquently that she had all the same anxieties and then some. Her anxiety completely blew mine out of the water. In an anxiety top trumps, she completely fucked me over. Luckily anxiety isn’t a competitive sport as I hate to be found lacking.

The talk lasted two hours and we were encouraged to realise that anxiety is just giving credence to negative thoughts. Anxiety is sort of over thinking bad thoughts that come into everyone’s head. It’s a self fulfilling vicious circle but the cycle can be interrupted.

I’m not doing the subject any justice but I had a lightbulb moment.

When I got home Dangerous asked me where my crystals were and had I found my tarot card deck because that’s my husbands sense of humour.

I have to say that the course was very inexpensive, almost too inexpensive and helped me immeasurably. A lot of what was talked about just made me feel that I wasn’t some fucking psycho and that other people lose weight at Christmas and worry about bizarre things that aren’t likely to happen.

Sarie is ace. She does individual sessions and I’m sure that she’ll be doing another course if we push her into it.

Don’t worry, I got home for Love Island.

Www.facebook.com/sarietaylorcoaching

Jumpsuit Rew
Trainers Zara
Bangle H&M

Shorts H&M
Top Stella McCartney for Adidas.

Last year, after writing a blog for over two years, I started a Facebook group called “Run Bitch Run”.

Last year, after writing a blog for over two years, I started a Facebook group called “Run Bitch Run”. This was after joining a different group that catered for Mums that run. The mums group weren’t keen on my brand of mental posts with swearing and so I promptly left after my inaugural post. The new group was a celebration of Running, swearing and boozing that encouraged wound shots because so many other running groups don’t. It also wasn’t just for women.

If you have followed my page for a while, you will know that the fall out of this group led to me getting really badly trolled because I tried to bring some order to the group and used humour to do this. The people that I was trying to bring to heel didn’t want to have humour used against them and threw it back in my face. This is all really rather boring but stay with me and I’ll get to the point.

Because I hadn’t learned my lesson with the Running group,I also started a group called “Fashion Forward Bitch” which led to pretty much the same problems. Lots of angry people that wanted the group to be something that I didn’t want it to be. I wanted the group to be about Fashion, bargains, and booze. I wanted it to encourage people to step out of their comfort zone and I wanted it to empower women, girls, men – whoever needed it.

I didn’t want it to be about people’s problems, kids, husbands or dating disasters.

As a result of these two groups, I have had threats, abuse, private messages from people to tell me where I’m going wrong, private messages from people to tell me why they hate me. You name it, I’ve had it. I’ve read some of the most ridiculous lies about myself and all because of a couple of Facebook groups that’s main aim was to help people. I started these two groups because they were the groups that I wanted to join and I thought that other people would too.

Because of the trollling, weird lies and deliberate misconstruing of my words, I’ve spent the last ten months wondering how and why certain individuals could twist anything that I write. As somebody who suffers from anxiety and second guesses all the time what people think of me, none of this has done me any good. I’m not stupid. I understand that not everyone likes everyone and not everyone agree with everyone. Nobody likes being criticised but I can live with criticism. It’s very difficult to live with people twisting your every word.

And I’ve seen pretty much, every nasty thing that people have written about me on social media because people screen shot it and send it to me. The people that did this had the best intentions. They were trying to show me what certain individuals were up to despite being in my groups but the end result was that I was left reeling. Worried what they were going to say next, second guessing how my next blog post could be highjacked and used against me. There’s not much that I haven’t been accused of. What I should have done, is just deleted the screen shots. I’ve spent the best part of a year making myself really anxious and a bit miserable because I needed to see horrible things that people had written about me. It’s like having a scab, you know that you shouldn’t pick at it but you do anyway.

I got up this morning and I’ve decided to start moving forward. I’m done with second guessing how people can twist what I say. I’m going to stop giving a fuck about nasty people who have too much time on their hands and have become bitter and twisted. Myself and the other admins of the two groups have worked out that all posts need to be admin approved in order to keep the groups true to what the initial concept was. If only, we’d done this in the first place, then I’d have saved myself a lot of trouble but we couldn’t have foreseen this, it’s just something that we worked out along the way.

I’d like to grow both the groups and I’d like the “Fashion Forward Bitch” group to champion small British designers.

In the meantime, I’m off to a group session on managing anxiety, I’m running and I’m going to stop reading anything negative written about me. I’ve worked out that the groups can’t cause me any more trouble if we keep them as they were intended to be and admin approved.

This last year has been a huge learning curve. I now know an awful lot about closed Facebook groups and particularly the psychology of them. If I’d known before I started the groups, how they’d pan out and how much work, they’d be, I would never have bothered but now that they are established and thriving, maybe it was worth it. The saying “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger” springs to mind.

I had stopped posting what I was wearing on a day to day basis because of some really savage and unnecessary comments. Some days, I get it right and some days I don’t.

I’m going to post what I wear every day. It’s what the blog was originally about. I’m going to stop worrying what a small group of frankly, bitter people are writing about me because they aren’t worth it.

If it wasn’t me, it would be somebody else.

I’d like to say a huge thank you to some lovely people who have picked me up and dusted me down when things have been bad. People who have given me a cuddle and told me to delete the negatives and concentrate on the positives. Everyone needs a cuddle off a friend every now and then.

You all know who you are.

Outfit

Shirt Zara sale – last summer – getting its first wearing – under a tenner.

Jeans £5 Sainsbury’s

Bangle Hermes

Trainers Zara.

If I’d known that I was going to write that today, I’d have put something better on.

What to wear?

Dangerous has his favourite and I think that we are in agreement. This is the first time ever that he has sided with me about what to wear.

Please help though.

Red and black striped is from Rew.
Cobalt is Asos White.

Also what do you think of the shoes? I have been reliably informed by the organiser that it is a proper ball. It’s not at all a “none ball/ball” as I have been describing it.

I have run every morning this week

I have run every morning this week and I’ve just been to the osteopath to try and sort myself out for starting to train for the Loch Ness marathon.
I was in touch with an old Running friend that I’ve not seen for about a year last night. She’s in the same boat, fucked up hip flexors.
She asked if I was doing anything about it and I replied to say “no – not unless you call moaning about it, doing anything!”

I’ve not run more than five miles for a couple of weeks but I’ve started to really enjoy my own company for four or five miles, first thing in the morning. I can’t stand running more than ten miles by myself though and often resort to chatting to people on my travels.

On bank holiday Monday, the canal was full of runners. I play a game called “how many people can I get to say good morning to me?”

It’s an excellent game that anyone can play. You just smile broadly at people and shout “MORNING!”

I got thirty seven hellos and twelve smiles.

This morning I only got two hellos as it was rather early.

I am missing my running buddies. I’m not fit enough to do the long Sunday run at the moment. They are all doing the Bluebell run on Sunday. I will be terribly jealous when I see all the photos of them…unless it’s raining. If it’s raining sideways and windy, I will feel all smug as I look at the photos of them in their muddy trainers.

On my running travels, at 5.00am, I have been very conscious of the thousands of snails that just seem to be coming home from a night out clubbing. They don’t seem to be aware that in their pursuit of getting across the pavement, they could be crushed to death or worse still lose their home and have people think that they are a common slug.

I don’t like slugs. Slugs look rather like dog shits.

I do like snails. I always pick them up when they look like they might be in danger. I transfer them to the side of the pavement that they looked like they were heading for.

Imagine making your way wearily Home after a night out on the piss to be stood on by a massive Asics trainer. It doesn’t bare thinking about.

I have come over all colourful and cheery in my attire.

Stripy dress Zara £15.99 current season
Yellow trousers Zara current
Pink dress Zara sale last year, about a tenner.

Shell snails own.

 

This photo was taken this morning before I lost the will to live

This photo was taken this morning before I lost the will to live driving the little shits down the M62 to meet their cousins.

We got stuck on the motorway as we nearly always do. We got stuck from the moment that we joined the carriageway.

An electronic sign on the newly made “smart” part of the motorway informed us that junction 13 to 17 were heavily congested. I had Bella look up where these junctions were so as to ascertain if we were to be affected.

“Just google, where is junction thirteen on the M62? Erm westbound???, No eastbound because we are east, no west, no east of Huddersfield but heading west….is that right? “

“I don’t know I’m ten”

“Google says it doesn’t know mum!”

“Fucksake”

The boys grew bored of kicking the shit out of each other and demanded to play a game.

“Mum, let’s play a game!”

“Let me think, errrrr NO!”

“Why mum? We want to play a game. We’re bored. Can we play the game where we count the number of coloured cars?

“Errrrr No.”

“Why not Mummy? Let’s play a game”

“No, I’m sorry I hate playing games in the car because it leads to violence. You always fall out and start crying, then start twatting each other”

“PLEASE MUMMY, WE WILL NOT FIGHT, WE PROMISE”

“Ok, Oscar, you can be purple, Ted yellow and Bella Orange”

“No, that’s not fair, I want to be white!”

“You can’t count white cars as there are too many. You need to look for more unusual colours!”

“I hate purple”

“I hate Orange”

“Yellow is rubbish”

“LOOOK A YELLOW CAR” I shouted to try and ease them into it.

“Aaaaaaaarrrggghhhh that’s not fair Mummy, you are helping”

“LOOOOOOOOOOK, AN ORANGE ONE, AND ANOTHER!”

“I want to be Orange”

“Well, I am Orange”

And then they started twatting each other again.

We thundered along the fifty mile an hour route, doing ten miles an hour with occasional stops. Bella kept winding down the window and saying that she was going to vomit and complaining that she could smell poo.

“That’s because we are next to the sewage plant darling and you have wound the window down and have your head out of the window!”

The new smart part of the motorway is very small and has been three years in the making. All of a sudden though, for the first time ever , there were tons of men working on the bit that isn’t yet “smart”.

We went past all the signs on the motorway where it informed us to not exceed the speed limit because “My Daddy works here”. When we see these signs of the little boy in the hard hat, we like to shout

“No he fucking doesn’t, no fucker works here. It’s been down to fifty miles an hour for three years because nobody’s Daddy is here at all”

Jumpsuit Rew Clothing
Jacket whistles, I will never disclose the price
Boots Zara £39.99
Necklace H&M €5

I’m parked on a quiet side street in Hale

I’m parked on a quiet side street in Hale waiting for the two eldest shits to be tutored in the fine art of passing the entrance exams. Curtains are twitching as the residents wonder if they are about to be done over. My car stands out like a sore thumb in these parts.

I’m not much into cars. If I were to be filthy rich, I’m sure that I’d get s nicer car but cars don’t do it for me. I have tried explaining to Ted about them being a depreciating asset but it doesn’t concern him. He’s still going to buy a Lamborghini when he grows up. I have also tried to explain that they cost about the price of a two bedroom apartment and that he wouldn’t be able to insure it but he barely looked up from “Fortnight”

This car has started to smell rather like the last car. I got rid of the last one because there was an invasive smell that couldn’t be shifted. Despite me cleaning this one and the last out, about once a fortnight, they both smell.
I think that it is the little shits. No amount of Frebreeze or Oust seems to make the car smell nice for more than twenty four hours. It just smells dirty. It smells of dirty little boys.

I’d just like to point out that the boys may well smell bit that’s not for lack of effort on my part.

I make one of them have a shower every day and the other two, every other day. This is a relatively new thing. I have spent the last ten years bending over a bath. My back hurts just thinking about how long I have spent bent over a bath as three squirming little bodies Twatted each other and rubbed shampoo in their eyes.

“Aaaaaaaarrggghhh. It’s in my eyes!”

“Not again, darling. That’s the fifth time this fucking week that you’ve managed to get shampoo in your eyes”

My little darlings never wanted to get in the bath but once in, I couldn’t get the little fuckers out. They would have sat in there for hours if I’d let them with the disgusting mouldy bath toys. When the disgusting mouldy bath toys finally went to the bathroom in the sky, it was a very sad day in our house. This wasn’t all that long ago.

And don’t get me started on the bottles of shampoo that have gone missing to make bubbles!

We actually have old fashioned bars of soap in our home because shower gel would last all of ninety fucking seconds. The problem with the well know brand of soap that I use, is that, it disintegrates if left in water for an hour or so. You will never witness a woman losing her shit quite so convincingly as when I find s bath full of freezing cold water with a blob of something that once was soap but now is like a chemical spill in the bath.

Now, they simply use all the hot water and flood the bathroom floor before emerging without having actually washed themselves. I regularly have to do the scratch and sniff test on the boys and then frogmarch them back in again to wash the chocolate from around their mouths whilst shouting

“Bums, willies, bums willies, get them washed now please. WITH SOAP!”

It’s Thirsty Thursday. The amateur night of midweek drinking but still a special night on the calendar.

Chin chin. Up yer bum.

Dress Rew
Necklace – it was from
Boots Zara

We are live from the leisure centre

We are live from the leisure centre.

We were early. We were early because Dangerous has taken Oscar to a football match and he dropped us off in my car. We now have no way of getting home, other than walking. It’s not far though. It’s only about one and a half miles away.
One and a half miles is the equivalent of Ted Running a marathon. I will have to pull him all the way home.

We have had nail polish Gate this morning.

Here are the facts.

I found nail polish on the carpet. There was a stain around the small blob of pale green nail polish.

Within reach of the nail polish was a bottle of nail polish remover. I have pointed out on numerous occasions that this is a serious chemical and isn’t to play with.

I accused the suspect of using chemicals.

The little shit denied it.

I’m now considering my options.

They are as follows.

1, Get some friends over, obtain some marbles and throw Said marbles at the bottle of nail polish remover. Hope to fuck that this is taken as intended and doesn’t result in an escalation of violence and ultimately end in the break out of world war.

2, Enter into lengthy but polite discussions known as diplomacy. I’m not known for my diplomacy though.

3, Set fire to the bedroom and tell everyone about it on Twitter whilst shouting

“Take that motherfucker. That is shock and awe! I told you not to fuck with me!”

Obviously this might burn the house down.

So far, I’ve just shouted a lot. Any other suggestions?

Top Zara sale £10
Coat Zara sale £20
Culottes Sainsbury’s £5
Boots Zara £39.99
Bag Kenzo H&M collaboration last year £39.99
Earrings £7.99 H&M. I’ve got them in two colours now.

Pray for me on the walk home please.

Supermarket chic.

Supermarket chic.

I’m not quite sure why the fuck I’ve put boots with heels on to do to the Easter food shop.

I’m now sat in the car waiting for Bella to finish gymnastics.

Last night we ran out of wine so there was a snaccident with a Toblerone. I’m afraid that the Toblerone didn’t make it. You may think that it’s one of those little ones. It’s not…

Jeans £5 Sainsbury’s ages ago
Shirt Marks&Spensive sale rail £19
Boots Zara sale £19.99
Jacket whistles – never disclosing how much in case Dangerous finds out. It was worth every fucking penny though.

What time are you allowed to start drinking if you didn’t drink last night?