Chookit/Chocolate.

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Cameras are so common place around here that I rarely get him to look at me but today was all about awareness, about pulling silly faces and even a picture of Mr. Potato Head facing the camera for some 'cheese' (I've no idea where Roman has picked up the cheese thing, I certainly did not teach him it.)

Getting Mr Potato Head to say 'cheese.'

Today was 'chookit' rolls with a side order of spicy soya sausage, pineapples, Cheezly and chewed up olives. Today was this 'yes I'm beautiful, what of it?' look. All. Day. Long. I love it. I love him. He makes me want to have a thousand more toddlers and a thousand more babies. 

I remember a time when he was a newborn and I thought to myself; 'will Bryan and I ever have another conversation?'. Today we sat on our bed; letting our thoughts get away with us, going on tangent after tangent getting so caught up in conversation. About half way through our discussion I realised we were back to that moment - a moment where we had a spare few hours together with no distractions. It was daytime. No one had work, a baby to change, feed or otherwise satisfy...but yet here we are three years and more into our marriage talking like we're dating, excited to feed off one another, accepting and open to the other's thoughts. 

And it's because of who Roman is that we were able to be in that moment. Because he is content, relaxed and so much fun - and falls asleep at night - we're also content, relaxed and so much fun. Happy child + happy parents = happy family. People are always asking us what we 'do' with Roman but the answer is that, quite frankly, we're just us. I get annoyed, I get frustrated and sometimes I even shout (working so hard on not shouting, though) but mostly these are good times. Mostly it's like the picture - messy, fun, relaxed. And a good dose of chookit/chocolate to get us through it if it's not going quite to plan* ;).

*Although it's worth mentioning I 'gave up' chocolate in March 2011 and I have restricted amounts otherwise I'd drown myself in a pool of chocolate.

Baby Proofing.

Before I begin let me just post this picture and draw on it's comparisons:

TWINS! 25 years apart. And well, not really twins as I'm his mother and he's my son...but you get the jist of it ;).

So... the other day B  'baby proofed' the living room. I was asleep at the time this happened because I was still recovering from the time he was sick - when he gets sick, I follow suit, but not because I contract whatever he has...my body can't cope with the sheer amount of energy that is required in looking after a toddler and a home full time. Yes, I'm aware many people do this parenting gig on their own and full time but I am also full time sick. And as such, that's my life and my set up. My body is like an elastic band - push it too far and it will break. 


Back to this baby proofing deal. Now, usually I'm sure a lot of people would be over joyed their spouse had been so ingenious as to baby proof their home. In fact they'd probably be downright shocked and/or impressed. 


Me? I'm a little startled by Bryan's methods.


Our problem is that Roman has a little problem with ownership - he thinks everything is his to destroy or throw to the floor to watch what happens to it. This really bugs me, even though I never let it show (first rule of parenting: don't show your kids your weak spots as they'll only exploit them at a later date.) So baby/toddler proofing was the next sensible and ultimately inevitable step...


For me I prepared by buying corner protectors and imaging things being in little neat boxes; tidy and organised, the opposite of my husband who works in a more haphazard fashion. I also have to tell you that this is the man who at 22 said we could "just keep the baby in the bath and throw a towel over them and then scoot them down when they pee or poo." This was his solution to not buying nappies - even though he is a disposable nappy advocate these days and I am very much a cloth advocate. 


So imagine, if you will, what his baby proofing might consist of and try to picture this scene:


I come into the living room and the insides of the book shelf have disappeared. 


No books, no blooming shelves. Nothing. 


Our bookshelf has been gutted. 


Okay, let's move on...this might get better. I also notice that everything that was under the coffee table is no longer there. I begin to panic. What's he done with it all? I notice that a suit case is blocking the entrance to one side of our corner unit sofa - Roman loves to go behind there and cause mischief. I look behind the suitcase and what do I see?


The contents of the bookshelf and coffee table. All lumped into one pile, looks like it's just been thrown into a heap. 


On the other end of the corner unit is a punch bag blocking that entrance. Roman runs up to, huffing and puffing and proceeds to smash his tiny fists on it as though he's attacking someone.


Bryan, what have you been teaching him while I sleep?

The 'guts' of the bookshelf have never been returned, they just lie dormant  in that same heap. And the shelves? They were completely out of view, tucked away nicely in Bryan's gym equipment cupboard.


Oh well...at least if they're out of sight, they're out of mind - right?


So I ask you, Ms/Mrs/Mr Reader: Do I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or am I completely justified to feel trapped under the chaos?

The Other Half.

I go on about The Other Half of me quite a bit - B, my love, my husband, best friend and everything in between.

I used to think a majority of guys were brainless jerks motivated by boobs, but I still managed to power my way through dating a lot of them.

I was fed up of dating when B got home from his LDS mission (I love LDS missions, I fully endorse them to all able bodied/worthy young men and women!) and made it perfectly clear I did not want a relationship with him. Ever. I even went onto rant to several people about how much better off alone I truly was (looks like Beiber was right when he said 'never say never.')

Um yeah, that was before he spoke to me on the phone for four hours, listing the many ways in which he would be a better boyfriend - and made no bones about marriage, either, may I add - than anyone else. Ever. He wouldn't hang up until I agreed to a second date (in a non creep-fest way.)

He did the thing I wanted everyone to do. Never give up on me. Because so many had. And  he knew everything (oh yes, everything) about me and still loved me in spite of that - and vice versa for me and him.

Like the Marilyn Monroe quote says, he saw me and handled me at my worst and definitely deserves me at my best. 

That's why I'm glad he's joining the Blogging ranks and has set up his own little blog all about democracy and his views on the World (we kinda, totally, LOVE democracy in this household.) So, if you want a view into a wonderful mind, go and check out Bryan's World.

I can't wait to see the things we talk about on this blog of his!


And since we're on the subject of blogs; I need votes DAILY on Top Baby Blogs. Why daily? Because I want the #1 slot! :) And, just sayin', but you can vote twice in a day. Yay!

Mormon/LDS Bloggers and my thoughts.

I've heard a lot about what Mormon Bloggers are for a while now.

Here are my thoughts on the matter:

We're (we're being LDS/Mormon bloggers) often revered for our "picture perfect lives/out-of-style-magazine homes/our cookies/pies etc."

I don't have a picture perfect life by anyone's standard. And to be honest I don't know anyone - LDS or not - who does. We're (we're/we being humankind) all constantly wishing we could be better than we are - after all if we weren't, would cosmetic surgery be such big business? Would we even bother to keep up with fashion trends or cause trends of our own? 

The truth is this: me and my husband argue. I've blogged about it once. 

Because it was included in the context of the blog that I wanted to achieve, not because I wanted to gripe about how bad I have it. Not because I want to paint him as some monster and not even because I wanted to get off my chest about how much he drives me crazy. 

And what is wrong with griping, of painting husbands as monsters in the relationship and of telling others they drive you barmy? 

Well I just think it's counter-productive. When I have a problem with someone, I take it up with them. I think it would be very premature of me to come and detail our arguments, piece by piece. And really although we say we love the drama that life throws at us - do we really?

I turned to my blog as a bigger way of apologising to him. Of saying; "I can't believe I've turned into the things I thought I'd never become." This is the human condition. It can be over come. This is the goal of everyone - LDS or not. Are we agreed upon that? 

I think it is important to acknowledge that both me and my husband are flawed - but why should this be the focus of my blog? It's my way of keeping record of my thoughts. Not a place to bank self-pity - and yes, you're very entitled to self-pity where it's due (didn't want to open up a can of worms on self-pity there.)

I accept there are abusive LDS/Mormon relationships and would never tell someone to keep quiet about this - and neither would our church. And if you want to read someone's view on recognizing emotional abuse read it here. Because the words are placed better than I could have put them and the explanation is pretty thorough and if you're dealing with this then you shouldn't have to live with it, no way. Or go here, here or here. 

The point is that I try to see the good in everything - and I accept people have short comings. However one of my short comings is also one of my husband's and so sometimes we spark off each other and it results in an argument - but why would anyone want to see that? We don't even like it in each other so I don't understand why a reader would want to read about it.

We were wed in 2009 - I had just turned 23 and he had just turned 22. We hadn't been engaged for long at all. We were each other's best friends. I told him anything, everything and the favour was returned. I knew straight off the bat what I wanted and this is something I had never known in any of the relationships I'd had previously. 

I couldn't have had my baby boy without this man I call B. Yes B is annoying sometimes and yes he grinds my gears sometimes but he also has this amazing calming effect on me. He makes me laugh mid-argument when he purposely comes out with an inappropriate moment joke or just a certain look he will give can send me off into a fit of giggles. He's been through things with me that I haven't been through with anyone else; because I haven't let anyone in that close. I'm comfortable, safe, secure and happy - and most importantly I love my husband.

He believes in me. And he believes me.

He isn't threatened by me simply because I am an intelligent woman, like all these other people I have dated. He doesn't speak to me like I am several I.Q points off brain dead. He doesn't tell me what I can and can't do with my life - it's our life and we share it together. He doesn't make decisions that effect me in any major way without speaking to me - and I give him the same courtesy in return.

We are trying to work hard at following what we preach. We are trying hard at upholding the vows we made in 2009. And we are working on our eternal marriage. 

Why? Because we love each other and because we know it's what makes us truly happy. We could retreat away from our beliefs but we believe that wouldn't bring us the true happiness that is promised to us, that we feel every day. Our son is a result of our choice to be married, our love to one another and another sign of our commitment to life. 

We're happy because there's so much to be happy for. Do we get sad? Yes. Do we feel down sometimes, too? Yes. Do Mormons/LDS people suffer from depression and other mental illness? You better believe it. 

There is no conspiracy here; I'm just blogging about the best because when I think of the arguments, the things we said I can't help but think about the joke he made or suddenly images from our wedding day crop up in my mind; I was very late, he didn't look at me when I walked down the aisle, (as per my instructions because I thought it would make me nervous) the intense feelings of happiness and overwhelming love when it came to saying 'Yes' to marriage and the feeling of nervous energy as it got closer and closer to it being us, on our own, the married couple without the fanfare of the wedding day around us. 

And then I sit and wonder what it will be like on our tenth, twentieth and thirtieth and so on wedding anniversaries - how I will feel and how those feelings will evolve over time. Because I fully expect them too. 

Because even after two years of marriage I wish we could do it all over again; relive all the happiness even if it meant going through all the sadness. 

It would be worth it a million times over.

Don't miss out!

Leave me a great comment.

Happy Kiss Day.

(Image: we♥it)

Happy Valentines Day.


Even though it was anything but romantic here. I spent my day (and it's not over yet at 11.55pm) with my baby boy - and he still wants to party. I've been awake since 8am. Please sleep baby!


 My big boy was in bed, sick.


I'm okay with that because every day is special here...yep, we're that couple. 


And well I don't have any other choice but to be okay with it ;).

First Tastes...

I think baby food looks like baby poop. I won't go into any more detail than that because it is pretty self explanatory right there.

However, Roman does not think it tastes like poop - or else I really hope he doesn't or we have one weird little man on our hands. He had his first tastes this week (Mum Confession: I slipped him the tiniest of tiny tastes of mango a few weeks ago. If he develops Crohns or Ulcerative Colitis then I guess I will blame it on this incident).

Carrot and potato.

I had a bit of a freak-out because Bryan (whoseneverlookedafterababyeverbeforeinhislife) didn't cook the carrots properly. They were mushy, but not mushy enough. I would say that I am pretty much a diva, but when it comes to my baby...I am a Godzilla Diva.

I don't get diva about a lot of things, but when I do...you better shut up, do what I ask or leave the room. I don't know where my diva outbursts were learnt - certainly not at home, definitely not at church and most certainly not at school. I think time and time again I got pretty sick of being nice to people so much and one day I think I spontaneously combusted and haven't looked back since. And I am glad. Because when I throw a hissy fit, things get done. Positive and useful things.

In my childhood home arguing was the order of the day. We were like a mini law society, each fighting our own corner and I absolutely thrived on that atmosphere - sounds like Social Services should have been called, but it wasn't that sort of arguing.

With Bryan I argue and he rolls his eyes (behind my back of course...imagine if he did it to my face, he'd have his head metaphorically ripped off his shoulders in no time). Sometimes, just sometimes he says something back and wins - it's rare but does happen - or there might be times where I even think he has a point to what he says. I can categorically state right now that this phenomenon has never happened with any man I have been involved romantically with - in my eyes the only smart thing they have done with their life is to date me. Don't I sound just catty? I say these things with a pinch of sarcasm and a huge dose of humour, naturally...but perhaps there's a smidgen of reality as well.

So, back to the carrots. I asked Bryan to cook them until they were like mush - very, very mushy mush. I know what I'm talking about because I've seen how mushy little people with no teeth need their food. So he cooked them and served them up. They were chunky. They were not mushy mush. I think I flew off into a rage - Bryan can tell you the exact details if you need to know - and this rage was all because of carrots. What the heck? I am out of control at times and I know. Bryan knows it. I think even Roman knows it.

Like a good husband does, he said nothing. Then he took the baby and slinked off to Tesco...I was still ranting as he left - I don't know who I was talking too, I was just mad as hell. While I was at home in floods of tears - eh, hello, again what the hell? The Good Husband (like the Good Samaritan, but better) picked up a few jars of baby food.

Also, it wasn't "mum's choice" and not because I didn't personally go along and select a couple jars of baby poop...sorry, I mean baby food jars from the shelves of our local Tesco. Mum's choice was to feed baby exclusively on breast milk for the first six months of his life - this is so unreasonable for so many reasons in our circumstances and I will just say we have a hungry man on our hands and leave the judgements for every one else to make because I am not listening.

Mum's choice was to buy fresh vegetables and cook them up and serve to baby. I know these baby food jars claim to have no preservatives etc. in them but I find it a little gross that mushed up veg has been sitting on a shelf for so long. Either way, the Boy loved his first solids (I try to pretend that doesn't remind me of poop) and he couldn't get enough of the stuff - literally. I didn't want to push his digestive system too much too soon so we only offered him a few spoonfuls at every feed.

I think I was so emotionally charged about feeding him his solids because it means a break in breastfeeding - it comes very welcomed, but it does mark another bitter-sweet milestone and is a reminder that he won't stay tiny for long. I was literally a mess that we'd "screwed up" his first feed. I wanted it to be perfect. I know that is a ridiculous expectation, but I can't help this need to make everything I do just perfect, especially when it comes to Baby Boy.

He of course didn't notice anything going on other than his nappy needed changed and his tummy was empty, so why can't I be more like him in my attitude towards life? Relaxed. Secure. Confident that maybe this time and a few other times after it that things really will be okay. Because it was and all it needed was a dose of Bryan and a jar of baby food to make things just fine.

Sort it out, woman!

I'm committed to actually updating (and keeping it in that state) my blog.

What's spurred me on?

Well, Bryan has grown tired of my rants. He's my husband for those of you not in the know, although we have been married for a good year and a bit - yes it has been good. Admittedly not a whole year and a bit of being good, that would just be weird and Stepford Wife-y, but for the majority of that year and a bit it's been amazingly amazing!

This is the rant following off from another rant part coming up. Being married is great. It's actually the best legal contract I could ever wish to enter into. But it's weird. It's like those American films where the kids go off to "college" (we Brits tend to stick to calling it Uni) and end up with room mates that they have to adjust too. If any of you have never lived with A Boy before - brother's, uncles, cousins, fathers, step fathers etc don't count - you'll understand my perspective on the subject.

You start to admire Bruce Lee. Eating as much as you like? Sure. Go for it. There's no girls to sit with and have those "Oh I'm so fat and here's a list of what I ate today" conversations. Dirty bathroom? No problemo.

Uh, wait a second. Did I just say dirty bathroom?

Why, yes, I did.

Okay, so maybe it is a tiny bit of a problem. And not only does the bathroom start to be a problem...other rooms start to get messy. The bedroom. The living room. The kitchen. And before you know it the landlord is calling you up to tell you that a flat inspection will be carried out because they want to re-evaluate the property and so you're scrubbing, polishing and stuffing things in over-stuffed wardrobes 'till midnight and setting an alarm for 7am so you can get up and finish the job before your eviction notice is served.

See, being married is all about team work. You yell at each other over who should do what in terms of housework but then you snap out of it and like a whirlwind you pull your resources together when the Health Visitor/landlord happens to "pop by."

Oh, and talking of Health Visitor this brings me abruptly to my next point; we had a baby boy on the 9th of February of this year (2010).

I got pregnant within a few months of being married. A few nosey people who I don't particularly care for have asked us "So did you plan this pregnancy?" as if we were two 16 year old chavs who'd feel very welcome on the Jeremy Kyle set. Of course, the answer is yes.

I'll spare you (and my boy who might read this one day) the details, but yes, it was planned. I used to feel a mixture of nausea and laughter whenever people said they "planned" their pregnancies. We just decided why wait for this to happen? And I'll be honest I thought it would take a good few years for any little people to appear on the scene so I felt ready.

Then the Boots bought pregnancy test revealed I was pregnant and my World crumbled. I don't mind saying that, or having it on the World Wide Web for every one and their Granny to read. I'm more than aware that there are many childless couples out there who suffer all kinds of heartbreak and more than ever I really felt for them when I was pregnant.

No joke intended. I thought more and more about those couples who have their hearts broken at the thought of never being pregnant and here I was, up the duff and miserable with it. It didn't really lift for the whole pregnancy. I don't know what was up, but it was weird. I didn't wish my baby any harm whatsoever, but I really didn't feel excited at the thought of it all. I felt scared at the thought of giving birth - actually, more than scared because I had it in my head that my family don't do "easy labours." Not even middle of the road labours. Every labour story I'd heard that came from family members was like a scene from some scary film. Everything seemed to go wrong for them and their labour took about a week to produce any baby.

I'd been building up these stories for years. Making them worse in my head.

Then I went into labour. I got on with it. I breathed through my pain. And yes, okay, I cracked and said "I can't do this, you're all wrong I'm weak!" and "Get me to hospital and get me an epidural." Then we hit the hospital and I was back to being Mrs. Calm.

Yes, I did end up with an epidural but that's a whole other story. For another time. 'Cause this entry has gone rather long and now you might have some insight into what it's like in the Life of Bryan ;).

So for now I bid you a farewell!