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 Marriage, parenting, Social

The weekend according to Mrs X

Once a week a magical thing happens. 

It becomes Friday, and you know what that means? It means it’s the friggin’ weekend people!!!

And if you, like me, would totally love to rock your weekends, then have a read through the details of my last weekend. Use it as a guide, if you like, on how to be a completely epic housewife and parent on those two sought after days.

Let’s start with Friday night. 

Firstly, you must agree to watch a movie with your daughter in your own bed. This is of course not fatal at all, and will not make you want to fall straight to sleep. Make sure you stay conscious enough to respond to her comments, so as not to cause any upset. Make sure you don’t eat all the marshmallows, again, this may cause upset…

Ok, daughter in bed. Time to watch a TV show with the boy child, whatever you do, do not turn off the front room lights to allow better viewing. You will, without a doubt, fall into a Friday night coma, from which you may not be revived until Monday.

Boy in bed, suddenly remember he has football training in the morning. He must leave the house by 9am. Make a mental note to go to bed early and set an alarm.

Then, of course, decide that 10.45pm is the absolute best time to give your business website a revamp.

Crawl in to bed at 2am, baby will definitely wake in about 30 minutes. Don’t forget you must get up in the morning.

8.56am Saturday morning – Shit!! I am a seriously crappy and horrible parent.

Boy goes to football, housework gets done. Enter lethargy mode. Forget breakfast.

Remember at about 1 that you need to feed the family, and that you haven’t eaten yet so you need to eat shitloads. 

Eat too much. Decide to do the weekly shop tomorrow instead.

Saturday night. Get a text from my sister saying she is going to visit our grandmother in the morning. Would I like to go with her? Yeah, ok. She will be there at 9am. 

Ok, don’t forget to set an alarm.

9.05am Sunday morning, there’s a knock at the door – SHIT!!

I’m up, I look like a river corpse but I’m up. Sister makes tea, I get ready.  It is at this moment that a I remember that I have only one pair of jeans, and they need washing. However living life without jeans is not something I feel I can face today, and so I retrieve them (without being spotted) from the wash basket. Put on a big jumper because it looks cold outside, and as this will be the first time I will have left the house all week I can only go by visual aids.

Get to the nursing home and discover they have the heating on full blast.

Get a banging headache and decide that your illusive and procrastinating period is absolutely on its way as you feel like a half dead garden bouncer – check!

Spend the afternoon at the supermarket (fucking hell on earth, why do I subject myself to it every weekend??), then playing with the kids in a semi zombie state. 

Sunday night, have a bath and decide that you will most definitely have an earlier night tonight. Sit down and watch Dexter, and then another one. Oh go on then, just another one.

Oh look, it’s Monday again! Whoop-de-fucking-do…

Lather, rinse and repeat next week…

I am rocking this life shit!!

Mrs X xoxo

Posted in parenting, Social

When is it my turn?

I have this huge pet hate.

I absolutely hate it when people moan about something and do jack shit about it. 

“Oh, I hate my job!” 

“Did you sign a lifetime contract? Did you allow your soul to be swallowed up by your workplace never to return? No? Then quit!” Life is far far too short for you to be spending any time doing something that you hate, that doesn’t make you happy or fulfilled. Yes of course, money is a huge issue, and a huge factor in decision making. But surely happiness should trump it? (Can I still use the term “Trump it” without this becoming a political post??).

Anyhow, I digress. This is my pet hate. Moaners who do nothing to fix there own lives.

But that brings me on to my, very personal, point. I have spent years trying to make the absolute best of my life, our lives. 

For the last 15 years, my entire adult life, I have worked my arse off. In numerous jobs, with differing roles, no matter what the position I have tried my best. I can be proud of myself for that.

But why the hell does it have to be so, so hard? 15 years into adult life, and I am still struggling to hold my head above the water. 

We have made choices, and sacrifices, and tried our absolute best but every single day seems to be the same grinding struggle. It’s like my own personal Groundhog Day, where everything ticks along just fine, but nothing ever changes.

Please, please don’t get me wrong. I am so happy with my lot. I have my health, my husband, my babies and a roof over our heads. I know that is a lot more than some can say. I know deep down that we have achieved a lot in our life together and overcome even more. 

But I am just starting to wonder when it will be our turn? When that moment will arrive that all of our hard work and efforts and struggles will pay off, when we will start to see some return for all of our output.

God, don’t I sound like the biggest, most ungrateful shit in all the world??

But that’s the thing, this is why I started this blog, because I can say that here and not feel judged or vilified for feeling that, at the ripe old age of 33, it’s time that there was more. I don’t want to be a millionaire, I won’t even ask to be “comfortable”, I would simply be happy with being able to pay my bills, buy our food and still have enough to take the kids to the cinema or swimming. To be able to live a life, not just get through each week.

I am tired. Of the struggle and the constant battles. I want something to click, to take hold and take off. I keep hearing the saying “You get out of life what you put in”. Well, if that’s the case then I think it is well overdue for some good fortune to come our way!

We will keep working, and plod along, because you never know when that one thing, that one decision or choice, will be the right one.

And in the meantime I will keep on smiling, because I am lucky. I am rich in all but money. And that fucking sucks!

Mrs X xoxo

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