Facebook Supermums

We've all got one. The one who has to broadcast how they are bringing light into their family lives by being
fabulous 24/7. Sorry but I've always preferred sitting on the floor that probably needed a good hoovering and playing with my kids than having a dishcloth in one hand a paintbrush permanently up my arse. I would love to know what these mum's do with the five minutes per day they get to themselves, I'm sure it involves sobbing uncontrollably. 

I once had a friend, I use the word friend very lightly and the word once in the, thank feck I got out of
that one, very strongly. She once came round and told me perhaps I could get DIY SOS in. Piss off and
go do some dusting love. I'll be looking after my kids, thank you very much. This from the woman who's
kids have always played the Nintendo Wii sitting on the sofa. She has long evening baths daily, the rest of us make do with a two minute shower and once dragged her finger across another friend's furniture to check for dust.

My kids are happy, kind and well rounded. Why, because I've been there. I made sure I would be always.
Will you see me in a pinny with a feather dust, hell no! Have we had to make huge sacrifices just for me
to be able to stay at home, yes! But It's been worth it. They are all amazing. They will treat others how
they wish to be treated, even if it's come back to bite them on the arse by kids not brought up with the
same morals. There's not many out there, thankfully we are friends with the one's that are! Even my wise
old Nan once told me, 'Everyone says how lovely your kids are... considering.' I know. You get to a stage
where you just have to laugh at her backhanded compliments.

So when all you Supermums are creating your show home, I'll be remembering my own mother wasn't on this planet for very long so every minute counts, while I'm pouring myself a glass of wine, of course.

A poem that was stuck in my head in the early hours at a jazz and blues club a few moons ago... 

 

Funeral for a friend

Sunshine breaking through the trees

Honeysuckle blowing on the breeze

Clouds painting perfect pictures on the sky

Why?

All my sorrow explained through tears

Scared at facing the future lost years

Watching a solitary magpie fly by

Why?

Part of my life torn away from me

Hoping time might one day hold the key

But I'm here to say my last goodbye

Why?

 

 

I love when it rains.

It is not the smell it leaves on the air or the fact it might bring forth Rainbows. It's because I get to spend some quality time with my usually socially inept, double hard bastard cat, Buster.

I have been previously owned by four cats. Sandy, a fat ginger ex-tom. Rocky, a long-haired tabby who was also a double hard bastard. He once attacked the mad woman up the road who was infamous for shouting 'nicky nacky noo, suspenders!' at passers by, thankfully after the attack she only got to 'nicky nacky' before being too scared to walk past our house. Rodney, a pure white, beautiful animal but he had major issues and actually did turn out to be a right plonker and Stanley, a ginger, tail-less, dog loving little sweetheart.

Sandy was welcomed into our family home when I was one year old after the neighbours had a house fire. A lovely fireman went back inside to save the kittens and my parents agreed to take him in there and then (Sandy not the fireman). Sandy got to two stone in weight, probably the reason why I could manhandle him so much and he was my best friend. We knew he visited another house as no cat got that fat on what we'd fed him. That and the fact he always came home smelling of curry made us figure it out, eventually. But, he was always there when I had no one to play with. Our favourite game, 'we've been kidnapped Sandy and we have to be quiet and can't move from the bed otherwise they will kill us'. I do realise I would have been a child psychiatrist's dream at six years old which probably is why I was so mortified when he died when I was fifteen.

Rocky and Rodney are a whole other story which would take too long to explain. Lets just say, I didn't want them to go to a rescue after my mother died, I went and cat-napped them, most of my family stopped talking to me and to top it off, when I moved, the man who lived upstairs didn't understand what, 'they are my cats STOP feeding them' ment. They both chose a life of tinned tuna and salmon over whatever I could find on offer at the supermarket and lots of Doritos, mine was the party house!

Stanley the first on the other hand, was an angel and he was my dog's best friend. Unfortunately, a lot of people thought he was an angel and I think he was stolen. Suprisingly, it wasn't by the man upstairs this time but I have to believe it was someone who loved him enough to take him, it was far easier that way.

Then we come to Buster. When the hubster and I moved from London to Kent, he was the first animal we got as a couple. He's twelve now and I have spent entire rain washed days, shut away, cuddling him. He is my favourite cat ever and considering some of the cats I've owned and what they ment to me, this is quite an accolade.

Why do I love him so much? He will never just play with his kill, if he's going to attack, he'll go straight for the jugular. He is more than happy to be in his own company for days/weeks at a time and if he can't give you his all, he'd rather give you nothing.

It rained today, it's always nice to spend some quality time with one's self...

Well it's about time, don't ya think...

So, it is with thanks to my wonderful friend Cheri, who read this poem and put it on her Facebook page, to drive me to finally put my stuff out there. And, a massive shout out to all my amazing friends who were around and supported me throughout, well my life basically! Love you more than Jelly Totts. xxx

The Dunblane massacre had a huge effect on my life. I just couldn't get it, these kids worlds were ripped apart in an instant. I think it's the first time, I questioned everything. The world, the universe, everything. Innocence can only be taken and it can never be returned. It stewed for a long time and eventually, I put pen to paper.

       

 

Lost Youth

A closed door may often find
Stories enclosed in it's young owner's mind
Of a lost, though wondrous place
With journeys only heroes face

The lion, who our heroes befriend
The witch from all they must defend
The wardrobe in which this world they travel

To face the most extraordinary battle
  

 But when I open this magical door
I see a hanging rail with shoes on the floor
Wondering why childhood comes at a cost
You never regain sweet innocence lost