It’s not always hearts and flowers….

It’s Valentines weekend and every bistro and pub in town is decked out with heart shaped table confetti and couples looking longingly into the others eyes, the bloke living in hope that TONIGHT is the night that one too many gin sherberts leads to adventures where no man has been before.

So; it’s with a big dick, little dick, and a cardboard box of chocolates that I wish a very Happy Valentine’s Weekend to all and everyone of you, everyday and forever. After all it shouldn’t just be about one day! Love and appreciation should be displayed everyday to our ‘ovverr arfs’, I mean it’s time to re-evaluate things if you only get made to feel special ONE day a year!

….and to all the amazing single ladies – celebrate – and don’t let all the hearts, flowers and gigantic fluffy teddy’s fool you into feeling blue, let’s remember your probably single because you’ve not found your ‘lobster’ yet, you know that you deserve better than you’ve had, and your not settling for Winston on tinder swiping right to every woman with their own teeth and DM-ing THAT dick pic like that’s gonna turn you on!!!

Recharge those batteries and rage up that rabbit, give yourself the rampant loving you deserve. You don’t need a Winston (apologies to any winstons) to continue to try and miss the g-spot, when you know exactly where that beauty is!

Social media feeds are full #iloveyou #lookatmyflowers #myblokeisbetterthanyourbloke – it’s all fucking filtered!

A reality check – my marriage is perfectly-imperfect, and that’s how we like it, some people might say we are too ‘comfortable’ as one second I prance around naked and often quite hairy, singing Fleetwood Mac out of tune and the next minute we are having a serious conversation and putting the world to right whilst having a shit with the door open!

Rarely do we get ever get much time alone, and if we did, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be a ‘red room’ moment, but more of a foreplay medley of melted cheese, and pulling off an orgasm in 10 minutes with a duvet over my head, finishing the evening with eight hours of unbroken sleep!

For the record we aren’t too comfortable. We just understand that ‘love’ isn’t always hearts and flowers but I do appreciate every inch of my husband as he does me, albeit, sometimes during the monotonous daily grind it doesn’t always feel that way and in-spite and despite of all of the moaning and everyday grumbles that happen within a relationship my life is better because of him.

Yours truly.

Just a girl called Kelly.

Keeping.

LOVE.

Real.

Forty ….. Say What??

I’m fucking Forty! Like how did that happen, I was 30 just last week.

So far, I can vouch my vagina hasn’t dried up over night! I think the ‘hubster’ was a little concerned to be honest, he’s never slept with forty-year-old before so his maiden voyage on a forty-year-old flange-ship was indeed slippery when wet!

I don’t know if everyone feel’s this way but leaving the fine and respectable age of 39 behind was a proper sad day. I am not ashamed to admit, I may have shed a tear. It felt like the end of the second part of the trilogy of my life. The beginning of the end, OR is it the beginning of the best years of my life… I hold the pen so I guess its up to me how I write the story.

So much monumental shit happens before you turn forty, for me. I’ve moved through the counties like a modern-day gypsy, I have lived carelessly and chaotically kissing many frogs along the way. I have made friends and broke friends, kept friends, lost friends, buried friends. I have loved and hated with a passion. I have found and married the ‘hubster’. We broke up and made up, and he is the father to our children. He passed up the option for a ‘trade in’ so he’s pretty much stuck with me now!  I have experienced the grief that comes with child loss, the heartbreak, the indescribable pain that lives within you forever in this prison of grief, occasionally it gets parole and resurfaces to remind you it’s still there and it really is still as painful. On the upside, I have rejoiced the tears of happiness over the birth of my children, taking me on a journey from careless, selfish, prodigal wanderer into a ‘mother’. This is by far the biggest and most significant life changing moment of my entire life to date. I know how blessed I am to have been able to have children. I’ve bought houses and sold houses, had jobs, lost jobs, run businesses, dissolved businesses. I have evolved! I’ve had a thigh gap and lost it, I had boobs that used to pass a pencil test and now I can store an entire pencil case under them. I have grown in more ways than in just width.

So here I am at forty! Wondering what lies ahead. I know it won’t entail, wasting time on people that don’t matter, when I say don’t matter, the people that don’t inspire, support or enhance my life in any way. 

I am on my own journey, in my own lane, dragging the ‘husbster’ and kids along behind me, what you’re up to in your lane, well; it’s none of my business, we travel at different speeds, blossom at different times, grow when watered with love and surrounded by ‘your type’ of people. A life of comparison will never give you contentment, it distracts you from what’s important. It sparks negativity and raises questions of doubt leading to a lack of self-belief, and we all just need to believe in ourselves a bit more, and believe we are capable of living our best life.

I do feel like I lost myself for a while, raising kids is amazing(ly hard), and for 13 years I have submerged myself into raising my kids. It’s not a negative thing and its not a regret of mine, but upon reflection I realise I have dedicated my ‘whole self’ in entirety, not keeping anything that kept me, ME.

Take note, you won’t win any lifetime achievement awards for raising kids, and I do believe you need to be a little bit selfish and refill that self love pot from time to time, it’s important to be able distinguish between the mother within you and the person you are, to be the best that you can be.

Forty, has found me reflecting and finding balance, forgiveness and resolve. I have also found that on my nights out the excitement takes over and in my mind I’m actually still 18 and I’m knocking back the drinks like I used to knock back the 20/20 down the ‘alley’ in a sleepy town called Chard! Only now it is actually ‘2020’ and I’ve grown up a ‘little bit’ exchanging maddog for Jagerbombs and now when I throw up I also piss myself, a new degree of multitasking!

Hangovers used to be cured with a lie in until 3pm, getting up to eat and repeat. My new ‘forty’ hangovers last THREE FUCKING DAYS, day one, I am vomiting and pissing myself, day two, I have a relentless headache and have a mouth as dry as nuns foof! So you’ll find me lapping up the water directly from a tap like thirsty dog on a hot day. The final hurdle is day three and I am inhaling literally anything that is edible that wont make me gag…..puke… or piss myself.

At forty I am clearly not wiser for being older, because I will do all of the above over and over, again and again.

So in brief …

• Surround yourself with good people, your type of people and stay away from arseholes. They are always there but they are always avoidable.
• Don’t compare yourself to others. You do you, and only you!
• Be a little bit selfish sometimes. It’s OK, treat it like ‘day release’ for the exhausted mother.
• Don’t do shots. EVER. They are BAD. They do NOT make you funnier, smarter or dance like Beyoncé…. Have you seen my move; affectionately named ‘The Smokin Turtle’? WTF!!
• Invest in ‘Tena Lady’ and permanent hair removal. Some things are worth the price tag!
• Primarily and most importantly do continue to live your best fucking life, it’s a gift not everyone gets.
• Hopefully a little wiser with few less fucks to give.
• Wear that badge with pride.

Here is to being forty and fabulous darlings… mwah!

Yours Truly

Just… that forty year old!

Seven years of reflection…

Dearest Elliot,

Seven years old you would be.

Troublesome, cheeky, mischievous and full of Harris character, for some reason this year you are present in my thoughts even more prominently today, the 5th December! This day is no particular day to anyone else who knew you, knew of you, held you or loved you, because to everyone else your real birthday was the day you were born, the 6th December at 5.12pm.

However on the 5th, to me and you this was the day we said our goodbyes! I’m reflecting; I’m thinking of you as I always do, but even more so on these up and coming days where our memories were made.

I’m reflecting; on our journey together, I’m remembering who I once was, before and after you! The neglectful, bitter and self torturous person I became for long while after losing you, and who I am now! The dark, dark places and the destructive thoughts I visited, and where I am now.

I’m proud of me for surviving, for keeping on keeping on when I really didn’t want to. I’m proud of you for teaching me that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’m proud of you for showing me that when you allow yourself to love with all of your heart, you have to accept that you will also hurt with all your heart because loving makes you vulnerable to loss, but loving also fills you with more happiness and contentment than you’d ever feel without it.

I am also scared; I am entirely powerless over time, powerless of how quickly it passes and how each minute, week, month, year that passes is another space in time that takes me further away from you. Which in itself sounds utterly ridiculous when your not even here.

That’s the thing about grief, time allows acceptance, but time also dilutes the intolerable pain to a bearable but yet still palpable level, and in some way you want to hold on to that tormenting pain and hurt, because feeling something, is sometimes better than feeling nothing.

I’m not some sort of ‘woe is me’, masochistic sadist! I’m happy about where I am, and who I am, and have become, but let’s not forget that I am and will always be a bereaved mummy who aches internally because she misses her three sons. I would do anything to bring you all back! The pain makes me feel that little bit closer to you, and I’m scared that the more time that passes the further away from you all I will feel.

I sometimes wish I could ask you how you feel about this space in time between us, but what a ridiculous question to ask a seven year old! What a ridiculous question to ask your children.

I mean, in this parallel world we live, between life and death do you feel the pain I feel, do you miss me, like I do you?

I hope you don’t, I hope with my aching heart that you don’t ever have any concept of any of this, and that life in spirit is peaceful, comforting and full of nothing but happiness…. and of course plenty of chocolate without tooth decay, sweeties without sickness, fizzy pop without hiccups, noisy toys without the need of batteries, happiness without sadness, days without nights, nights without darkness, and a happy 7th birthday with the most enormous cake!

Happy birthday my sweet boy Elliot.

Forever in my heart.

Forever my little soldier.

Forever missed.

Mummy x

You will always be my babies….

Admit it? I can’t be the only one. I’ve selfishly babied my youngest daughter.

She’s the youngest of four, and I don’t love her any more than I love my other children, but I’m selfishly clinging on to her infantile ways and babyish demands for my own selfish needs and my maternal desires to needed, to nurture, to love, hold and cherish this beautiful little human that I grew and gave life to before she doesn’t need or want me anymore.

What’s ever more significant is that she’s my last child, I don’t intend to churn out another addition to the Harris army any time soon, in fact EVER. I’m done.

With my eldest daughter I wished her milestones away because I was overwhelmed and excited by becoming a new parent in a naive, first time mum kind of way, I couldn’t wait for her to start teething, crawling, talking, walking, start preschool, then school, dance at a ballet, and after the loss of Louis and Corey, her premature brothers before her. I was really just excited, pleased and utterly relieved that she had safely arrived and was here! I was elated she was healthy and alive and I was subconsciously and unhealthily stifling all of my grief by busying myself making plans for her and her future!

My son came along 18 months later and it was a similar affair, but for very different reasons, he was difficult, poorly, needy and relentlessly grumpy, cried continually, and it wasn’t easy being a mum to newborn and a toddler, it wasn’t easy being an exhausted mum, with tits that had been tortured within an inch of their ‘breast-life’, nipples resembling a chewed up and regurgitated ‘sugarpuff’ but on a much larger scale. I was exhausted and I wished the months away for my own sanity, I wished the months past so I could sleep and regain clarity and most importantly allow my tits time to heal and my fanny to forget the brutal and rather barbaric battle it had and lost with a pair of gigantic forceps, the type I had only ever seen being used by a James Herriot on cattle!

I wished for the serenity that you see in all the ‘mum and baby magazines’, a new mum, looking calm and naturally glowing, holding and feeding her porcelain skinned, perfect baby that is equally as calm and feeding contently from her pert, full breasts! I sensibly and quickly realised that; that, was a load of amazing photography coupled with careful editing and some money hungry magazines deluded perception of what they think, WE want to SEE – basically in laments terms a load of F**KING PHOTOSHOPPED BOLLOCKS AND LIES, and went back to wishing the days past as quickly as possible.

I couldn’t ever imagine doing this parenting thing again, but then the unthinkable happened, my son, became fun, funny, charismatic, gorgeous and he actually liked sleeping, he was everything I imagined him to be, after almost 10 months of hell – I was finally enjoying every second, my eldest daughter was thriving. I was f**king nailing this motherhood shit!!!

Along came Isla; and raising Isla, my second daughter and third live child, one day I should write a book called….’Raising Isla’, because from the moment she was born she was ridiculously advanced, headstrong, and exhumed confidence; even as a newborn, I mean don’t ask me to describe how a new born baby can be confident, but she really was, from how she found her routine, how she breast fed from the second she was born like she just knew what to do from the off, I’m also pretty sure she purposely catapulted herself out of my womb and down my skin chimney faster than the speed of light, not looking back for nanosecond to see the destruction she left behind, she’s much the same as a thriving 8 year old! She knew she was cooked enough and she was coming, move out the way I’m coming through, her motto and mantra to this day and she has smiled, stropped and giggled her way from newborn, to toddler, to school girl, and she’s been an independent and feisty little girl ever since the day she was born.

This was unbeknown, both a blessing and a gift given the unknown path ahead, she didn’t need me wishing her milestones away when she was smashing through them all by herself. She was a confident, funny and smart little 18 month old ‘Smiley Isley’

Then Elliot died.

I

Stopped

Parenting.

I

Momentarily

Stopped

Living.

I

Just

Stopped.

Isla was 18 months old, my children’s independence was blessing while I slowly detached myself from life and them! I had stopped wishing for anything other than to go back in time. All this time I’d excitedly wished away and now all I wanted was to go back in time.

The impact Elliot’s death had on me, I’ll never have the right words to relay or describe it well enough for others to understand and I can’t believe I even decided to have another go on the ‘Harris disco stick’ to have another baby after loosing Elliot, however despite the fear, I did, and she is the youngest little girl in our family. She is a prime example of how desire overcomes fear. My desire to have another child versus my fear never to have another or to loose another.

I stopped wishing milestones away, I cherished every memory, I basked in every moment, I held on to the hugs and cuddles just a second longer than I should. I SLOWED DOWN. I appreciated, loved and experienced properly for the first time what being present in the moment really meant, how important and perfect it is, no matter how unimportant and imperfect it actually feels when your in the parental blurs of exhaustion with a sore fanny and swollen ‘sugar-puff tits’!

Circumstance changed me as a person.

Circumstance effected how I parented.

Circumstance then made me appreciate what I have as-well as a what I had lost.

And the reality is that no matter how old they become, they will always be my babies, and I won’t ever stop trying to keep them present in ‘their’ moment of adolescence, innocence and infantility because let’s face it … your a long time a grown up!

So cuddle your babies a little longer tonight and take a moment to reflect on how fucking amazing this circle of life is, and how lucky we are to have and hold our children when so many don’t even get the opportunity.

To my babies,

You ALL, will always be my babies.

The end!

Words of Wisdom to my younger self.

Whether it’s a drunk night out with friends or reminiscing with family I bet at some point in your life you have been asked the question, ‘So what advice would you give to your younger self?’, and after watching Joe Wicks The Body Coach insta-story today about a letter he wrote to his 25 year old self on a podcast with Holly Tucker and it got me thinking… what would I say to my former self?

‘One day you will be older, which means less collagen and more wrinkles. It means more fat as your speedy metabolism slows down with age; well, that will be the excuse you will use when you bin the tailoring for all things lycra. The truth of the matter is you eventually learnt to drive and chose driving over walking 200 meters and ate way too many carbs, despite the dietary choices you will be much wiser and give far less f**ks about most things in general and that in itself is entirely liberating. You will look back at old photos of your younger self and wonder why the hell you had so much self-loathing but you will continually struggle with your hair! Hair will defeat you so embrace it early on, and don’t ever allow the way you look to become the battering ram for other people to bash you with. If they do, remember this says more about them than you!  Very briefly, and because I am a grown up (sometimes) and have very little time to waste on people that mean so little to me that I wouldn’t even flush them! To all you weedy little limp dicked bully bastards at my secondary school that called me ‘gorilla girl’ and made my school life a misery, I hope the fleas of a thousand camels crawled in to your arse and your arms were too short to scratch it. I hope at some point in your life someone called you out on being an arsehole and that in turn made you into a better person.

Life will be an emotional ride,  you’ll experience pain and heartache and all the name calling and bullying will seem like nothing in comparison but you will come out of it the other side, stronger albeit a little bit broken, just like a shattered vase that’s been glued back together, it still fulfills its purpose in life but it’s never quite the same. But just know, you’ll be alright as long as you keep talking. Talking is life’s free medicine, choose your ears wisely!

Don’t chase love, lust, friendships or companionship. Those things ARE important but should be organically grown from a place of confidence and knowing your worth. When you understand your worth you become like ‘bees to honey’. People will be drawn to you for ALL the right reasons. Not because you’ve paid them in kind, kindness, fags or snow. Don’t get me wrong being confident and knowing your worth is not AAA; Armour Against Arseholes! You’ll still meet, snog and sleep with a few of them along the way, but trust me if you build that stability from the bottom up, build yourself, layer by layer from the feet up into a confident, strong and uniquely independent woman, in time you’ll be able to spot the arseholes a mile off.

When your young you’re in a race with yourself to get to 16, 18, 21 as quickly as possible, so much so you prematurely loose your innocence. Be young, dream big and be a child with ambitious dreams, be a kid that won’t pick dandelions in case you wet the bed a few years longer. When your older you’ll be clawing back those years you wished away. You can’t race time, time is not promised it’s a gift that comes with an expiry date and none of us know how long we have been gifted.

Spend more time with your family. That time is precious time, you won’t think that at 11,12,13 or even 16 years old but remember I am you, a few years later with my own children, grasping on by my fingertips to the last stages of childhood and wishing they could see what I see, and know what I know now. Family time is where the memories are made, kept and treasured and where you will always be unconditionally accepted as YOU without even trying!

Laugh hard at all the shit, take no shit, don’t talk shit. Don’t be a twat, don’t sleep with twats. Hold on to your V-Plates like you will ‘hold on’ to the words of ‘THAT’ Wilson Philips song, hold on to your virginity like you hold onto the hope that ‘Oasis’ may reform and that ‘Heather Shimmer’ comes back into fashion and always remember to count to 10 it will save you…being punched in the face!’

See you in future. Wiser, fatter, and giving less fucks!

 

 

 

 

 

Perfect…or not?

A message for my children: I am not perfect, and I am OK with that. Please don’t live a life searching for perfection it’s unrealistic and makes you feel like a piece of dog shite. Perfect is not factual, it is what the onlooker deems it to be – its ambiguous, everybody’s perfect will differ.  I am OK with not being perfect to anyone else, and so should you be, because I, as are you, are perfect to me (I know that sounds like a song! And I bet you sang that bit…)

I am like the WONKY vegetables being sold in the supermarkets and farm shops, with one tit bigger than the other, a few crooked teeth, and a little rough around the edges.

Embrace the wonkiness it will keep you grounded.

 I mean just because you buy a wonky carrot it doesn’t taste any different.

More so than ever we seem to be living in a world of photo shopped fakery, filters and lies. We have created a fake ass world making it impossible for you to aspire to. So, in simple terms, DON’T!

You are, and always will be ‘perfect’ to me.

Remember it’s not about what you wear. Be a boy in a dress, a girl in a suit, be a hippy, a boho goddess or emo, wear what you want but always wear a smile on your face, be happy and wear that proudly because being a ‘Helena Bonham Carter in a world of Kardashians’ or being a ‘Superhero in a class of Princesses’ is a path I crave to see more of. You don’t need to dress to impress anyone but you! You don’t need to follow the crowd.

We all come in different shapes and sizes. Guess what? That’s OK too. Long legs, little legs, hairy legs. Big hair, no hair, ankles or cankles. Big boobs, no boobs, limp or firm (handshake; of course) AND we have all got rolls, some of us just have a few more than others. Even the ever-ready six-pack gang will have a roll, granted, it’s a mini roll as opposed to a sub-roll, but it’s a roll all the same.

If you want the ABS, work for the ABS they don’t come for free. Equally if you want the cake, eat the cake because you’ve earnt it but be-warned you’ve probably got my metabolism so you’ll own a muffin or two if you eat ALL the cake.  That’s OK with me and it should be OK with you. Life is short if you want to eat the cake then buy the bigger dress or do a few extra burpees, because at the end of the day we all take comfort from different things at different times. Sometimes it will be chocolate and wine other times it will be ……. probably more wine but it’s about balance and making sensible choices, every choice you make will have a consequence.

Sometimes we will want to blend in, but my advice to you would be to never just fit in, especially just to blend into the crowd. Be a voice, be heard, don’t be scared to have an opinion, have it, own it and speak it respectfully as you don’t need to shout. It’s not always those with the loudest voice that is heard, it’s those with the wisest words, executed well, so stay educated!

Love every part of your body, it will serve you if you care for it. Your feet will walk you to places that you cannot drive to, your eyes will see both pain and infinite beauty, look further then you can see because the further you look the more clarity you will have. Your heart will beat, it will also break and that will hurt, it will be a pain that’s indescribable with words alone but you will feel it, however that doesn’t mean live a life so fearful of this heartbreak you don’t live at all. Our arms will hold people near, embrace the people you love unconditionally, a hug can help heal your broken heart so don’t be averse to the human touch! Your hands will write words, words that you didn’t know you even felt if you can connect them with soul. Your tongue will be your biggest problem, as it is mine, tame it, reign it in, somethings are better left unsaid. The tongue has no bones, but believe me it is strong enough to break a thousand hearts. I’m not saying be silent. I am saying speak freely and as you wish, always speak the truth but except that sometimes the truth hurts. Your mouth will feed you, so feed it well, remember you are what you eat. Choose more wonky carrots and a little less cake. Fat jokes aren’t funny when you’re the brunt of them. Your head will cloud your judgement from time to time so follow your gut, that intuitive feeling is never wrong. Your mind, now that’s a fucking powerful tool, but like all tools they need oiling. Oil it with love, you owe yourself the love you so freely give to others. Self-care will change your mindset which should never be underestimated, if you tell your mind you can do it, then you will. Tell it you can’t then you won’t.

You are only what you tell yourself. With that in mind.

SAY IT WITH ME.

I AM PERFECT – TO ME!

 

 

 

 

Life Changing ….

There will be some things in life that will happen to you and these things will be life changing, a moment in time that will irrevocably change your life forever and things will never be the same again. ‘YOU’ won’t ever be the same after the event.

For example, marriage changed me – I went from single to married, from ‘I’ to ‘US’, from uncoupled to coupled.

The birth of my children changed me – I went from carefree, careless, prodigal, reckless, pint drinking, tit flashing female  with ultimate bladder control and a svelte size 10. To a nurturing, caring, selfless, sensible, gin drinking, spaniels’ ear, flashing woman who wets herself when she laughs and wobbles when she walks.

The death of my children changed me – I went from nurturing, caring, selfless, sensible, gin drinking, spaniels’ ear, flashing woman who wets herself when she laughs and wobbles when she walks. To a bitter, resentful, jealous, heartbroken, soulless shell of a mother who cries her self to sleep every night wishing things could be different.

From my experience not all life changing things are sad, not all life changing things are bad. Some are great, some are momentous. Some will teach you valuable lessons whilst some will make you and some ‘you’ll think’ will break you.

The death of my twins was 13 years ago, 13 years ago my life changed. I changed.

One thing about grief, which in itself can change you as a person, is that the grieved often feel like they need to be sad and bereft forever, because not being sad is like accepting your ‘over it’ which of course you never will be but in reality, as time passes it becomes easier to deal with but for the grieved this element is the hardest to deal with. For years I didn’t want the pain to leave, for years I tortured myself because I wanted to feel the heartbreak, because being present in grief allowed me to feel closer to them.

When it becomes easier, are we forgetting? Are we disrespecting their memory, for at least being sad and feeling pained and grief stricken in some way confirms our love for the people who have gone?

One of my all-time favorite quotes is Time moves slowly but passes quickly, and how f**king torturously true is that!

This September I have seen my eldest daughter start high school, in my head she’s still 2. I applied for my son’s high school place, my middle daughter became a junior, and not only did my baby start pre-school but I also had to apply for her primary school place! I’m barely accepting of the fact she is going to preschool let alone very soon will become a full-time reception student when to me she is still a ‘babe in arms. My baby. The baby of the Harris Family.

I combine these milestones with one of grief as I think of the two little boys born thirteen years ago on the 4th and 5th of September. The two little boys that established the Harris Family. The two little boys that changed me forever, probably for the better! The two little boys that taught me how to be stronger than I ever thought I could be. The two little boys that taught me that, to love, will also mean to hurt more than you’d ever imagine possible. The two little boys that taught me the true and exact meaning of unconditional love…

I haven’t forgotten them and I never ever will, but it is OK to OK with loosing someone.

I was born on the 13th, and I think numbers have a funny representation in your life for various spiritual reasons. 13 years old they would have been this year and becoming a teenager is such a life changing moment in itself, for the parent to embark on a new challenging journey of parenting a hormonal teenager and for the child, to morph into a know it all, cheeky gobshite pushing boundaries and the limits of even the most patient of people as a daily occurrence!

So to the boys I miss so desperately. I love you, I still do, and I always will.

I will imagine the do I or don’t I shave the four hairs off my chin dilemma

I will imagine the school boy crush that you’d both have on the girl next door.

I will imagine the acne breakouts and the overkill of a deadly deodorant and aftershave concoction.

I will imagine the football obsession and the competitiveness between each of you.

I will imagine one being academic the other cheating on his homework.

I will imagine that one of you is constantly late and the other one is frustrated by the lateness, but still never leaving his twin brother behind… ever.

I will imagine one loving cars and being a petrol head and one being the ocean loving surf dude, but somehow you both manage to combine the two perfectly, spending quality twin time.

I will imagine the cheek, I will imagine the answering back and the hormonal angry outbursts of testosterone as puberty hits.

I will imagine life with you both in it ….for a short while.

I will imagine you as inseparable in life, as you were inseparable in passing.

One thing I know for sure, is that you both changed my life forever and you taught me that everything in life is temporary!

Yoga-tastic….. Who even am I?

I’ve been regularly ‘working out’ for a while now, and that still feels a little odd saying that in a sentence, given that I am ‘that girl’ that would arm wrestle for shot of tequila and then run home via the kebab house!

I’m still not particularly fond of this new activity, however I’m beginning to feel and see the benefits and I’m really enjoying the feeling of accomplishment after I’ve smashed it! It’s not quite euphoric yet, but it’s certainly releasing something (aswell as excess wind and wee) that’s got me wanting to repeat the torturous process the next day!

Well the daily HIIT activity seems to have taken its toll on my aging bod, and I have hurt myself! Being a little shy of forty and trying to shove my arse straight into Joe Wicks takes it toll!

Quick rephrase there, just to clarify that ‘INTO Joe Wicks’ ‘HIIT sessions’ and not literally shoving my arse into the actual real life human ‘Joe Wicks!’

I’m an ‘all or nothing’ kinda a girl so I went for it big time, high knees, jump squats, squat thrusts, and burpees – and tell me? Why are they called that? I’d love an explanation if someone could enlighten me? I have thought about this for some time and I believe it’s because you burp and pee a lot whilst trying to do these at high speed!

I’m working hard at getting toned and trim, but it’s not easy! So after I hurt myself I decided to look for a yoga version of Joe! I did find it…. on instagram @thestrengthtemple. Something I could do gently, while allowing myself to heal! Some free online DIY YouTube videos and some healthy tips and advice – you know what I’m on about right!?

Why yoga?? Well! I wanted to continue exercising while I’m resting my creaky bones and aching muscles from the high impact shit that Joe does, less ‘flaps on fire’ and more ‘carve your core’

The more I read about the benefits from doing yoga, I have to admit it had me wondering why I didn’t start this years ago! You know, when my knees didn’t crack when going to sit down on the toilet.

I really ‘need‘ some in-tuned breathing in my life, being a mum of four I spend a lot of my time panting and breathing very loudly or hyperventilating as I watch a child narrowly dodge a collision with a bus on a balance bike because she’s throwing a wobbler over wearing the wrong type of itchy knickers!

I really ‘need‘ a solitary 20 minutes to regain mental clarity…. just imagine 20 minutes alone! With me, myself and I. Just to, to just…. just to be …. ME!

Who even am I!? …. I find women and mothers often spend so long dedicating their lives to other people and their children that they loose themselves along the way!

I want to be strong, I’ve always wanted to be strong! I’ve lusted after women with girl muscles …. I want to be able to do 20 chin ups, which to be fair I could do before I got fat, and I really want to have an ass so strong I could crack walnuts between my butt cheeks!! Now that’s gonna take a shit load of squats!

I want to be toned and most of all I want to turn my ‘play doh’ belly into a washboard…

Well that’s the dream… the reality would be to be a size 10 and not have my joints hurt!

So working with the latter I’m wishing I spent more time joining in with Mr Motivator and not bunking PE at school just to go for sneaky spliff to keep in with the ‘IT‘ crowd!

This recent research and enlightening insight into yoga has got me really excited. Yet again in traditional ‘Kelly’ style, my ‘all or nothing’ attitude is in full swing and I switch on the Amazon Fire Stick and scroll through various yoga-mentaries obviously skipping all the beginner ones, because clearly I can Cat, Cow and Pigeon as good as the 10yr experienced, slender and toned, six packed woman demonstrating it! I fast forward to a position I thought would challenge me a little …

It didn’t go so well.

I head butted my own knees, fell on the floor and I’m pretty sure I wet myself. I am so glad I do this sort of dumb shit at home, rewinding the yoga-mentary right back to the beginning and starting there ….just like all the normal people do. Who knew you could actually sweat by DOING YOGA!

Anyhow, while I work out ways to keep my underboob dry I’ll be sure to update you on my firefly and king pigeon pose!

….Not another pair of jeans!

I am, and always have been a huge advocate of self-love and ‘loving what your mamma gave ya!’

I understand its hard to be body confident in today’s world of photo-shopped IMperfection. Let’s face it, it’s pretty difficult to make a fair comparison when even the ugly people look hot using a snapchat filter of a dog!!!

Until recently I have been totally OK with being a little podgy around the middle. I have been OK with the muffin top because my priority hasn’t been about vanity or body shape! I have been busy getting pregnant and raising babies so I didn’t really mind the extra play-dough, and I never wanted to look at my own ‘lady garden’ anyway…?

Diets have never really worked for me, all that weighing quinoa and munching on chai seeds. The weekly weigh ins, trying to poo beforehand to avoid the fat shame. So; maybe it was a little easier for me to love my fat arse instead of trying to make it smaller, because let’s face it that takes effort and hard work and when you’re not one of those naturally graceful, gazelle like runners, gliding along at a hefty 7-minute mile pace without even breaking into a sweat – it’s hard to work off the lard.

I’ve tried joining running clubs, I tend to be the one that lags behind doing my 12-minute mile looking like my head is about to explode and drowning in my own sweat. Embarrassment kicking in when the person I am running with, sprints on ahead of me then turns around and sprints back to jolly me on a little and then f**king sprints off again… BACKWARDS just to rub it in!! Waving as she goes this process is repeated throughout the duration. I end with the mother of all stitches, gasping like I need a nebulizer and my co-runner has ran double the distance and is about to jog off home which is probably another 3 miles on top of that.

It does nothing for my self esteem.

I’m just not that type of person that gets all wet thinking about how many ‘KG’ I can leg press at the gym…and I am, really very envious of the women that do. I have however been told that this gym appreciation comes as your stamina improves and you actually get better, so I am eagerly awaiting my first GYMGASM. I am willing this moist euphoria,  as I squat with 30KG to be that of a proud climax other than urine from my weakened bladder.

The time has come where after four children, seven births and pregnancies, a belly that covers my vag. Biscuit breakfasts, crisps for lunch combined with quickly approaching 40 and a progressively leaky bladder, I can no longer ignore the fact that I am actually wearing holes in my jeans between my thighs. YES! With my very own homegrown FAT a am wearing holes in actual real DENIM! Things have to change.

After the third pair of jeans succumbed to my thighs I decided I would weigh myself. For the first time I was not happy with what I saw, the scales had a bigger attitude problem than I did. I weighed in in true heavy weight fashion, heavier than I have ever been and the reality was that I am no longer happy and content with the playdough around my middle.

So, I have been on #missionthighgap, if for no other reason than to save myself some money in replacement jeans.

The biggest change is the exercise. No one tells you that it turns you in to a moany old cripple before you get slim. I have gone from wine lifting to weight lifting and exercising 4/5 days a week.

I am bear crawling, plank twisting and frog squatting like a beast, resulting in me being absolutely terrified of going to the toilet in fear I might actually get stuck on it because the DOMS (delayed onset muscle spasm) are insanely painful. Walking the stairs feels like I am climbing Mount Everest and I can’t straighten my arms and nor can I pick up anything heavier than a slice of bread… which is not great because I am on restricted carbs!

My findings are conclusive!

Regular and consistent exercising does actually WORK because you actually don’t eat for fear of getting stuck on the toilet as your legs give up holding you when the DOMS sets in and you can’t actually make yourself any food because your arms don’t work properly.

THIS IS THE REAL REASON WHY EXERCISE HELPS YOU LOOSE WEIGHT.

ALL YOU LOT OUT THERE THAT CAN SYMPATHISE  AND CAN FEEL MY PAIN….

KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!

Ill keep you posted on the gym-gasm….

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time moves slowly, but passes quickly.

To the tired mum. To the frustrated and jaded mum.

It’s ok to feel like this but remember that it wont always be like this.

Its just a phase they say, it will pass they say.

It’s true, it passes faster than you think and the phase will transform before your eyes as you teach and nurture your little ones.

When you are exhausted beyond all belief and all realms of sanity are being tested, when your cradling your newborn and praying for them not to wake up to prevent your tits being tortured for another hour of on and off suckling, when your nipples are raw and your sitting on a ‘blow up’ ring to take the sting out of just ‘SITTING’ because it feels like your under carriage is about to fall out. Whilst its unfathomable right now, trust me when I say there will be a day when you will miss those solitary hours of staring and feeding your perfect baby.

When your baby grows into a toddler and begins to talk, when the demands are more of a throw yourself on the floor style tantrum, anywhere and everywhere you go without regard to who is watching or where you are, when your randomly rummaging through your bag to find random McDonald’s toys and ploughing copious amounts of chocolate into the tantrumming tots mouth to pacify the little git because literally everyone in that postcode can hear the catastrophic tantrum unfold and are casting judgements on your parenting.

Which by the way is fan-fucking-tastic because you have managed to keep the little turd alive for three years embarking on the biggest endurance test of your life.

When he’s throwing his food at you because its not ‘the right’ colour or texture, but you’re so physically tired and mentally drained you actually start googling how you can make mash potato not ‘mashy’, and if carrots can come in any other colour than orange in a desperate attempt to make your life easier.

There will come a time when you will look fondly and reminisce over these trying days, there will be a time when your mini human is making unhealthy decisions and you will wish her a toddler again so you can protect her from life, so you can cram hidden vegetables into her diet and fill her full of carbs because she has some desire to be a celebrity size zero as she’s becomes exposed to today’s fake photoshopped perfection. You will wish you could bribe her to talk to you with chocolate and sweet treats as you used to as a child. There will come a time when the tantrum is replaced with silence and a cold shoulder and you will have to use the most astute tactics to delve into the inner psyche of this complex hormonal teenager, knowing that the silence is significant but not knowing how to help or even get ‘IT’ to speak without getting abuse hurled at you. You will wish that you could just sit her in front of the television to watch her favorite programme, and hug would be enough to distract her from the ‘now’.

When your preteen becomes a real proper teen and spots, acne, sex and wet dreams are the topic of conversation, when he starts bringing his friends around in hordes of grunting, untalkative, hormone ravaged, mini male adults. When the fridge is emptied in seconds after coming home from the weekly grocery shop, you will wish they still had an appetite of that screaming toddler that despised mash and hated orange carrots.

When bribing your child with chocolate is scoffed at and replaced with twenty-pound note bribes and extra WIFI time. You’ll miss the days when life was simpler and not every decision you make is challenged and protested against.

Right now, you might be thinking your living in some sort of nightmare, that your life is chaos and your kids are unruly. You might be infuriated that you never seem to have a single second of privacy, sex involves snatched minutes in-between brushing your teeth and showering or even whilst brushing your teeth and showering and generally with the Peppa Pig theme tune in the back ground, your day starts at 5am and never ends, you take a shower with your toddler pointing out every one of your flaws, you bath with your child trying not to end up with a toe in your arsehole, you have to crap with your child asking you ‘what are you are doing, mummy?’ over and over and over until you offer a very ‘strained’ answer through gritted teeth, you may be followed everywhere by your mini person and you probably haven’t had a HOT drink in years, you may feel like screaming and running for some alone time but remember it won’t always be this way…

One day, sooner than you think… you will have time to have sex without time constraints and with your own choice of music in the background, you will be able to sleep in, but you won’t, you will be able to shower alone, you probably won’t because you will miss the grubby urchin that used take up the corner of the cubicle with his plastic boats, you will be able to take a shit in peace with the door actually locked, you will always be on time and you will be able to drink HOT drinks and have an adult conversation with real life adulting adults.

…. But you will miss all the chaos and look back at it fondly.

Time moves slowly but passes quickly so when your ripping out your hair and ‘frustrated’ with yourself for being ‘frustrated’ at your children, when they annoy the bones of you. Remember its just a phase and with each diminishing phase comes a new beginning.

So have faith because even if you hated every second – that too will pass.

Love always, Just That Girl ….Kelly.