Posted in Friendship, mental health, parenting, Social

Knock knock…

I hate the postman. Rationally, I know it is not his fault. Irrationally he is responsible for a lot of shit going down in my house and I hate him.

I also fear him. Whenever I hear the post box a-knocking I gets all kinds of bad chills. I can’t remember the last time he brought me something good. 

Anyone who has been reading my blog and listening to me whinge will know that we are currently undergoing some financial maintainance. And by that I mean we are financially fucked. I expect my internet, gas and electric to be cut off any moment and as I have already mentioned we are waiting for the people to come and embarrassingly collect our car in front of all of our neighbours. It probably shouldn’t but somehow the idea of it being witnessed makes it feel 9’800’000 times worse.

So anyway, I digress from my point. 

Saturday morning I was binge cleaning (the kind of cleaning that you do when you haven’t even had the time to sneeze alone during the week and need a huge catch up when you realise that you are living in filth (little disclaimer, I have OCD and so my idea of living in filth may not be the same as others)) and shouting at all those who didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm as me/got in my way, when the doorbell rang.

I don’t know how to explain the feeling of the doorbell ringing when you are in such dire straits. I was instantly paralysed whilst holding the Hoover in the kitchen. I called upstairs to hubby as I couldn’t physically open the door myself.

So it turned out to be the normal postman with a parcel. Mr X walks into the kitchen and says “have you ordered anything?”to which we both laugh because we can’t even afford necessities let alone frivolities! 

So I’m stood there in the kitchen, still holding the Hoover nozel, staring at this parcel. Genuinely trying to work out whether a bailiff has managed to “Flat Stanley” himself into a parcel and will unfold and attack as soon as I open the envelope. It takes a good 10 seconds for me to realise that this is probably not possible. Even so, I open the parcel with extreme caution, like a bomb handler, debt collectors have been known to use shady tactics, what if the envelope contained some kind of anthrax like substance which would knock us all out and allow them entry?

The parcel, once opened, did not contain anthrax, or anything yucky.

In fact, it was a beautiful card and present, from a lady who I have become very close to, and yet never had the pleasure to meet in real life. She is a blogger, and one of the only reasons why I continue to blog, as it keeps me in contact with a select few incredible people who have made a huge difference in my life.

She had been reading my posts, and wanted to make me smile. That’s all. Someone, who I have never met, was thinking of me and wanted to put a smile on my face.

I can’t even begin to describe how that made me feel. I don’t have many people in my life, maybe partly because of who I am and maybe partly because I am very selective with who I spend my precious time with, but that wonderful lady, who has her own life and blog and family and full time job took the time to think of me.

Knocked me for six with happiness, that’s what it did. And it humbled me too. Depression can make you incredibly selfish, and self absorbed. Some people can’t handle having a friend like that. It’s too hard and one sided. 

But this lady can see past my faults, and made me truly happy.

You know who you are you gorgeous thing, and I hope you know that what you did was possibly one of the nicest things that anyone has ever done for me. 

I truly do “virtually” love you.

Mrs X xoxo

P.s. Check back tomorrow for an update on my weight loss and sleep patterns!! I use exclaimation marks to hide the fact that the news isn’t good. Little spoiler – I’m pretty shit…

Posted in Friendship, Marriage, parenting, Social, social life

Helpful ideas are always welcomed….

My husband, who I love dearly, comes up with the best suggestions.

An example of one of his little nuggets of genius is the following sentence:-

“I think it would be a great idea to make the kids lunch boxes at the weekend too”…

The above sentence could only ever be uttered by someone who doesn’t have to make lunch boxes every other flipping night of the week.

He is clearly not aware that the only thing that I have to look forward to on a Friday and Saturday night, is a night off from the dreaded lunch box making!!

Making lunches has been the bane of my life for the last 9 years, and thanks to the arrival of the new tiny it doesn’t look set to end any time soon! The fact that the actual act itself only takes about 3 minutes is neither here nor there, it is simply the most mundane job that I have to do! 

I would rather iron…

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in Friendship, parenting, Social

What’s up with you?

Every couple of years it seems that there is a new ailment doing the rounds, like you get you bird flu, or your MRSA, or a bit of foot and mouth. 

Well this year a new affliction has been brought to my attention, and I am afraid to say that I have been unfortunate enough to catch it, or have been born with it, either way. 

The sickness goes by the acronym RBF, it’s full medical term, or how it is commonly referred to, is Resting Bitch Face.

There aren’t many symptoms to this disease, in fact pretty much just one. When you are not contorting your face into some form of forced expression, when you are in resting form, you tend to look like an utter bitch.

There are other side-effects, for example, you are unable to go through an entire day without at least 14 people asking you what is wrong. You can’t approach people without first creating some form of upturn with your mouth for fear of scaring them. You have to be constantly aware of your facial expression just in case someone might catch the moment you decide to relax and let your face fall back into its happy state of bitch-dom.

I have noticed that there are indeed plus sides to this ailment, however. 


One is that your kids think that you are pissed off with them even if you are just sat drinking tea and so go above and beyond to make you less annoyed. Today the boy mopped the kitchen floor and the girl dusted.

Another upside is that people tend to avoid trying to make the dreaded “small talk” with you, as you look so completely unapproachable. This can make trips out much more bearable. I must have been the only dog walker in my area to have other walkers cross the street rather than ask me my dogs name, weight, favourite spaghetti dish and star sign, thus avoiding the obligatory nicety bullshit that seems to come as part and parcel with the doggie adoption papers.

The final benefit of being an RBF sufferer is that you tend to only be surrounded by those who actually give a real shit about getting to know you. None of those stragglers or hangers on in my camp, just the people who saw through the hard outer shell and got treated to the wonderfully squishy centre inside (I’m part armadillo…).

And so from writing this list I have come to the definitive conclusion that suffering from Resting Bitch Face is in fact a blessing rather than a curse. So go ahead, embrace your inner bitch, you can thank me once you start to reap the rewards!!

Mrs X xoxo