Nappy Mishappy…

I’m going to write you a short little tale,

about a toddler who had a slight nappy fail.

I’m not making this up, it really did occur,

It’s a little effed up, I think you’ll concur…

One sunny morning, the toddler awoke,

he came waddling in like a big burly bloke.

His legs were all bowed, like he’d ridden a horse,

but he hadn’t for he’d only just woken, of course.

I looked at him baffled, he seemed very upset,

“What’s the matter my chap, is your nappy wet?”

“Poo poo!” he shouted whilst grabbing his bum,

Ah, the glamorous life of being a mum…

“It’s ok little man, mummy will help you,

don’t get upset about a little bit of poo”.

The toddler continued to grab at his nappy,

the poor little mite really wasn’t too happy…

I collected some wipes and sorted his clothes,

then steeled myself ready to cover my nose,

I undid the nappy, I was full of trepidation,

was I going to be greeted with another brown creation?

“Poo poo!” the toddler continued to shout,

“It’s ok little Ben, I’m sorting it out…”

As I open the nappy, to my complete surprise,

there isn’t a poo waiting before my eyes.

“What the fuck!” I exclaim, “what the hell is this?!”

“I was expecting a poo and a bit of piss!”

I’m not telling a lie, just picture the scene,

I’d only unearthed a sodding Lightening McQueen!

A Lightening McQueen was there in his nappy,

no wonder the poor little sod was unhappy!

A little piss sodden, but otherwise fine,

I used a few baby wipes to make it shine.

“How on earth did this get stuck in there my boy?

That’s not the best place to be hiding a toy!”

Ben cuddles his car and he smiles at me,

and there ends the tale of the nappy mishappy.

Truly folks.

Only in my world would one of my kids wake up at 6:15am and cry that they’ve done a poo, only for me to change them and find there is not in fact a shit in their nappy, but a toy car.

Thankfully, it would appear it was placed there by Ben as he was going to sleep and he had forgotten about it. Mr McQueen hadn’t passed through the littlest one’s digestive system – that would be some road trip, get writing that idea down post-haste Disney Pixar!

One to be saved for his 18th Birthday I think…

#dontbeadick – a toddlers guide…

Quite often, my youngest can be a bit of a (massive) dick.

There, I said it.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I love him to bits, and my entire family for that matter, and wouldn’t be without any of them, but just recently I have found myself mutedly mumbling the phrase, “don’t be a dick”, whilst feeling my heart sink multiple times in a day. It’s starting to feel a bit like Groundhog day…


That’s right Phil, you smash the crap out of that alarm clock my friend.

Every morning I try to wake up with renewed vigour.

“Today will be a good day!”

“Today will be full of fun and giggles!”

“Today, I’m not going to shout and call the littlest one a knob-head under my breath”.

And then, normally within 30 minutes of waking up, the little one begins his reign of terror for the day and the first muttering of, “don’t be a dick”, spills from my mouth.

Seriously, Boss Baby has nothing on this kid.

I just can’t help it. I can see him about to be a pillock before it happens, but there truly is little to nothing that I can do about it.

Sure, there will be those out there who tell me I am a shit mum for even thinking my toddler is a bit of a tit, who will be opinionated and say I am not in tune with my child’s feelings and it’s my fault he is behaving this way, but I beg to differ.

I can, at times, have the negotiating and bargaining skills of the President of the UN and it still doesn’t make any sodding difference. If this kid has decided he is going to dick-ville, he’s packing his Trunki and zooming there regardless of what I offer him.  This kid doesn’t do mediation.

Here are just a few instances where those words are uttered by me, including some handy tips for toddlers on how not to be a dick.

The first argument we face is normally;


  • Toddler tip: If you don’t like any of the twenty choices that mummy is offering you for breakfast, DON’T BE A DICK. Just say no thank you and go hungry until snack time, or at least have a silent protest. Don’t scream at me, roll about on the floor, blow raspberries in my face and throw all the cereal boxes out of the cupboard in a rage.

Getting dressed.

  • Toddler tip: If you don’t like the thought of being clothed for the day so we can leave the house without the potential of mummy being arrested for child neglect because it’s a mere two degrees outside, DON’T BE A DICK. Just put the goddamn clothes on already! I’ve spent a small fortune on clothes with your favourite characters on so that you’d be more inclined to put them on and has it made a difference at 8am in the morning when I need to get you and your brothers out the door for school?! Does it bollocks. Just say, “Yes Mummy! I would love to wear my Lightening McQueen t-shirt today! Why thank you!”, and put it on. Don’t leg it and hide under the table so I have to drag you out kicking and screaming by your ankles so I can wrestle you out of your birthday suit.

Walking to school.

  • Toddler tip: If you don’t want to go in the pushchair, I very am happy for you to walk as long as you hold my hand. Please DON’T BE A DICK and let go of my hand and do a runner towards a busy road. Lots of people frown upon the use of baby reigns (I’ve seen the Judgey-McJudge-face’s commenting on the interweb – they seem to think they’re for animals, not children, but I would hazard a guess they haven’t been in possession of a child who could keep up with Usain Bolt). If you continue to let go of my hand and accelerate away from me quicker than I can eat a Creme egg on the sly, I will put the animal-esque walking reins on you without a second thought.

Leaving pre-school.

  • Toddler tip: I know you’ve had a lovely morning playing with your chums, but when it’s time to leave pre-school and get in the car to go home for lunch, DON’T BE A DICK. Sadly we can’t stay at school all day nor go to your friends house for lunch every day. I know you love them, but the answer is no. Please don’t run off in the car park, or sit in a puddle, or go as rigid as a plank so I can’t get you in your car seat.


  • Toddler tip: When mummy asks you if you want a Ham sandwich for lunch and you reply with, “yes please!” and help mummy make it full of excitement whilst shouting, “Yummy!”, I don’t find it very funny when you then sit there and say, “Yuck!”, at it like I have presented you with a turd on a plate. I understand it’s everyone’s prerogative to change their minds, god knows I do it all the time myself (hmmm, Gin or Rum? Gin or Rum?) but to change ones mind within the space of 15 seconds, when one is the person who made the request of a ham sarnie, that’s just madness. Stop being a miniature penis and eat it nicely, there’s a good chap. Oh, and if you’re thinking about putting stickers from your Peppa Pig magazine in your sandwich, please don’t.

Around the home.

  • Toddler tip: If mummy gives you a snack, like a yummy-scrummy biscuit or yoghurt, DON’T BE A DICK. Please don’t put it on the TV cabinet, find a toy car and then smash it to smithereens or smear it everywhere because you didn’t want to eat it after all. Number one, you’ve now made a huge mess and pissed mummy right off because she now has more cleaning to do and number two, it’s a waste of good food and I’d have quite happily scoffed that snack had you offered it my way or left it lying on the floor (yes, I have no shame and would not bat an eyelid at the thought of eating a biscuit my toddler has left on the floor rather than bin it). Also, colouring yourself in with a felt tip pen might seem fun at the time, but getting it off? Not so much. Mummy will have to put you in the bath even if you don’t want to go in there and she will have to scrub you profusely until you no longer look like you have a tropical disease. You have been warned youngling.

toddler covered in felt tip pen

At the shops.

  • Toddler tip: Look kiddo, mummy hates shopping with you as much as you do most of the time, but the fact of the matter is, sometimes shit just needs to get done and until you start school properly, you might have to come along for the ride too, alright? If mummy needs to pop into M&S to get herself some new socks and pants because hers have more holes in than a slice of swiss cheese, DON’T BE A DICK. Please don’t go into jelly mode and lay in a heap at the threshold to the shop entrance because you know it’s a boring shop with no prospect of playing with toys. If you behave, I could be in and out in 5 minutes flat but if you continue to be a toss-turnip and bellow at me in the middle of the shopping centre, it’ll end up escalating to the point that I go all cry baby on your ass and then retreat home with no new socks and pants meaning I’m going to be a tad peeved at you and not let you watch the kids opening Kinder Eggs on YouTube. Capisce?


I know kids are only small for a short amount of time, and I wouldn’t wish the time away but my gawd, some days they push every single button you have don’t they?! It’s natural to feel like you want to book yourself a one way ticket to a Caribbean Island with only a suitcase full of Gin (and maybe those new M&S socks and pants you finally managed to buy) on occasion and that’s ok. It’s ok to find some days a struggle, and don’t think for one minute all those posts you see on social media of happy smiley families every day are the norm, because for most people, it isn’t. We all have wonderful days, glimpses of what we perceive to be perfection, but we can also all have truly shit-tastic ones, and I can assure you that you’re not alone.

So toddler of mine, and most other toddlers out there, remember;

Don’t be a dick.

Ultimately though folks, said toddler will end up being a bit of a dick at some point every day. They’re still little, they’re learning, they’re testing boundaries and pushing our buttons quicker than a teenager playing a video game. But it’s ok to feel a bit pissed off about it, mutter profanities under your breath and moan, lord knows I do.

It’s ok to say in your head, “I love you kiddo, but I don’t always like you”.

And when all else fails, remember cake and cocktails are your friends people.

Cake and Cocktails.

Shopping with kids (and a husband) – How to live life on the edge

 Kids and shopping. A match made in…hell.

I know that kids and shopping don’t go together, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes, needs must.

I do my food shopping online (lazy I know, but I’m not fussy about having to go to the shop to squeeze plums to see if they’re ripe or not) and the way I look at it, I am helping keep someone in employment. It’s a selfless thing to do if you ask me.

I rarely drag my husband to the shops either, maybe four times per year if he is really unlucky, much for the same reason as why I don’t take the kids. He isn’t a fan of shopping…unless it’s for a new bike of course.

This weekend however, we decided to go as a family to a cool shop near us which sells new and antique furniture/homeware. I have been once before (without kids or husband) but thought the husband should come and have a look because he is currently on the lookout for a new armchair. Yes, an armchair just for himself. See, I told you he only comes shopping when it is for personal gain.

I told the kids it wasn’t a boring shop but they still weren’t enthralled at the prospect. Ignoring their grumpy faces, off we went in the car.

The kids were fine on the way there, playing Pokemon Go, eating random sweets they had found on the floor in the back of the car, playing iSpy, the usual but as soon as we pulled up in the shop car park…


Eldest one goes into tantrum mode. He is 8, almost 9, so his tantrums aren’t toddler like but more teenage strop like. He stared soullessly out of the window of the car, his eyes filled with forced tears and he slunk down in his seat whilst informing me that he wasn’t going to be getting out of the car.

Chuffing brilliant. What a wonderful start to our family shopping trip.

The middle one is also reluctant but is easily distracted, like a moth to a flame. As soon as he saw a bird bath frozen solid with ice, he soon forgot about joining his older brother in strops-ville and skipped over towards the shop.

The toddler is just oblivious to life and did as he was told for once whilst following me dangling a bag of snacks in my hand. All about the incentive.

My husband manages to coax the eldest one out of the car after a couple of minutes and he begrudgingly shuffles his way (at a snails pace) over to the shop, where he then immediately forgets about his Kevin the teenager moaning and joins his middle brother for a spot of bird bath ice smashing.

Boys. Simple creatures really.

The Packhouse Farnham Surrey

Whilst in the shop, the boys decided they loved shopping after all and enjoyed flitting about the different rooms. The shop was in a huge converted barn and is a rabbit warren of different rooms. This made it fun for the kids, but a sodding nightmare for me. At one point, I was looking at some cutlery. I glanced up, they were gone. The kids and the husband.

Seriously?! I was literally glancing down for ll of 15 seconds and they’re gone?! Shows their attention span doesn’t it!

I can hear them but I can’t see them (as is often the case in our house) and I cannot find them for toffee in the labyrinth of rooms. I put down the cutlery I was looking at and stomp on to try and find them all again. I finally see them all lounging about on a sofa they’ve spied.

Shopping with kids (and husband) Tip 1:

If you cannot see them, they have probably gone to sit down. Or eat.

Poor loves. All worn out after six minutes shopping.

We have a look at some other bits and bobs and I walk around daydreaming of owning a house that is big enough to fit stuff like this in, and I imagine what it’s like having kids that don’t redecorate the dining room walls with food every mealtime so they can have these nice things. Do they exist?!

The toddler then spies a ride on horse toy. He’s off like shit of a shovel and before I can blink he’s sat upon the thing like the Sun-dance Kid. It takes me a total of 12 minutes to get him off it.

The oackhouse Farnham toy horse

Shopping with kids (and husband) Tip 2:

Do not let your kids (or husband for that matter) play with any toys they see whilst out shopping. You will not get them away from them and you’ll end up wanting to set fire to the shop just so you have a legitimate excuse to drag them out screaming.

After I bribe, sorry, give an incentive, to the toddler to remove his backside from the toy horse, we set off through the labyrinth of rooms to find Mr Knutts and the eldest two kids again. Tip 1 proves accurate and I find them all sat on another sofa…and Mr Knutts in a rather grand Wing-back chair with a smile on his face as he rubs the arms. People love a bit of chair rubbing when they are shopping for furniture don’t they.

Ah, he’s found one then.

I have to admit, it is very nice and it’s not too expensive by his usual standards. He sits down, gets up, sits down, gets up, rubs the arms, sits down, rubs the arms again and pretends to do the most important of things in it that he plans to use it for, sleeping. Yep, that shall be the chairs soul purpose in life it would seem. A nap chair. maybe he’s more in the market for a riser-recliner if that’s what he has planned for it?

He finally decides he needs to think about it a bit more (aka, bully himself into spending some money) and so we leave the shop and head back to the car.

The kids gallop back thankful that their shopping ordeal is finally over.

Little do they know, it isn’t.

“Shall we pop to that other furniture shop just down the road on the way back? They had some nice bits in there last time”, I say.

I can feel eyes boring a hole in the back of my head. It’s the eldest again.

He instantly changes from happy chappy to stroppy shitbag in less than half a second.

Shopping with kids (and husband) Tip 3:

Don’t suggest ‘just one more shop’ after a shopping trip if you want happy children. It will result in them deciding that they are now perfectly entitled to be little arseholes until bedtime because you need to be taught a lesson.

The husband says ok and we head for the other furniture shop.

Again, we have to drag the eldest one from the car and he says he would rather eat sprouts than shop, and that my friends, means it is really bad.

He sulks around the shop. Lollops on every chair and sofa he can find whilst the middle one and the toddler charge about the place like it’s a new area on the Crystal Maze.

Sitting in a chair out furniture shopping

“Watch that vase!”

“Don’t lick the windows!”

“Put the pretend TV down!”

I become sick of my own voice. Why is there so much breakable shit in a soft furnishings shop?! To escape without breaking something is sodding miracle and deserving of at least 2 G&T’s.

Meanwhile, the husband is having a nice browse about the place and is stroking the arms of some other chairs.

After 5 minutes, all the kids are joining in with the eldest one’s strop.

I walk around the corner to find them all in a heap on top of a giant floor cushion…

Kids lying on the floor shopping

I ask them all nicely to get the hell up and we carry on having a look.

Then we get to another point and they all fall on the floor again. This starts off because the middle one has a rug fetish. I am sorry that sounds wrong, and it  absolutely does, but I mean he actually really likes rugs. We have wooden floors in our house on the whole and it means soft surfaces such as plush carpets and rugs are a rarity in the Knutter household. therefore he really makes the most of it at our friends houses or at the shops by rolling about on them and having a snuggle. In a rug. Rug snuggling, I’m not making this any better am I…

Shopping with kids, boys lying on the floor

“Get up!” I say through gritted teeth as a shop assistant throws me a glance.

Now the mischief has set in. They have had their strops and now they decide getting up to no good and being cheeky is the way forward.

It starts with the rug snuggling, yes, yes, I know, inappropriate, and then it moves on to the toddler playing with the electric chairs. No, not the death penalty type, fear not, the type I think Mr Knutts needs seen as he plans on using his new chair solely for napping purposes.

The playing with chairs and buttons lasts for about 15 minutes. It was really fun. As much fun as piles.

 Then the older one finds an inappropriate lamp with a penis for a light switch to play with. Yep, you read that right (in fact, I took a photo of one when I saw it last year because I found it very amusing). Anyhow, he thought turning that on and off for 7 minutes or so was hilarious despite my pleas for him to stop…

I glare at my husband and we decide this shop doesn’t have what we are after and so we round up the rug snuggler, the electric chair player and the penis lamp tinkerer and head back to the car and then home.

The kids immediately perk up once back in the car and demand snacks because we have missed their usual 12pm on the dot lunchtime and they fear they are going to waste away because of it.

Shopping with kids (and husband) Tip 4:

Furniture shops are not good places to take children. There is too much breakable shit and there are too many buttons/switches for their little brains to cope with/leave alone.

Once home, I vow never to go shopping with them all again. Ever. I also really want a G&T but it’s only 2:30pm…though it is a Sunday.

*Pours Gin*

Shopping with kids (and husband) Tip 5:

Don’t go. Do it all online or leave them all at home.

Snow joke…

Ah, the great British let-down that is Snow.

We were forecast some yesterday and everyone waited with bailed breath to see if the weather forecasters had got it catastrophically wrong (yep, a bit like the pollsters did with Brexit and Trump) or whether they had actually got it right for once.

Turns out they were right. Kind of.

About 5:45pm last night, after a biblical amount of rain in the afternoon, it snowed. The kids squealed with excitement, even I pushed my face up against the window to see the magical flakes fall from the sky, but sadly the joy was short lived, as it all so often is with regards to snow here in the southern UK.

By 6:30pm, the kids had been out in it, got themselves soaking wet because it was so slippery and were moaning that their hands hurt because it was so cold.

By 6:45pm the kids had walked soaking wet shoes and clothes through the house (despite being asked to take them off at the door) so I was moaning about cleaning it all up.

By 7:30pm it had turned to slush thanks to the earlier biblical rain.

By 7:35pm my husband had phoned to say the traffic was at a standstill and that he wasn’t sure if he was going to get home because cars were sliding down hills.

By 7:40pm the kids were moaning that the snow hadn’t been very good.

By 7:45pm, mummy had a G&T in her hand.

Daddy got home 5 hours after he set off. The journey normally takes 45 minutes.

Proof enough that the England cannot cope with snow I think.

This morning we woke up to frozen slush and ice. It was pretty treacherous out there which the kids thought was fantastic.

Mummy yelled at them, “Don’t skid on the ice on the edge of the kerb!”

So they did it some more.

Mummy yelled at them, “Don’t try and skate on the black ice in the road as we cross it!”

So they did it some more.

Mummy yelled at them, “Don’t throw ice balls at each other! It isn’t snow anymore, it’s as hard as a rock and you will hurt each other!”

So, yep, they did it some more.

Such command and control I have over my children isn’t it? I do astound myself at times.

So, in conclusion, the ‘Thundersnow’ we were forecast lived up to my personal expectations of causing maximum chaos and disruption whilst letting everyone down with it’s shitness. We built a slushman, but sadly no snowman.

snow UK 2017

I posted this on my Facebook page but it made me chuckle so thought I would share it over here on my blog too. It sums up Southern UK snow pretty well I think…

UK snow

Deer with a Beer: The final Trilogy


How the feck has this happened all of a sudden?! I think I am ready for tomorrow. The kids are in bed, albeit one of them is not asleep (the eldest, despite threats of Santa not coming) and I am on the Baileys after a few rum and cokes.

The wrapping is done, the Christmas day prep is done and now it’s time to kick back, relax and eat my way into a delirious festive stupor.

Merry Christmas one and all.

Here are the last 3 installments of Deer with a Beer for you…the final trilogy.

How will things pan out for Rudolph?!

Deer with a Beer Day 22

Deer with a Beer Day 23

Deer with a Beer Day 24 – The Finale