Tag Archives : alpha mummy

The Feral Child’s End of Year School Show


It’s that time of year again.  The academic year is drawing to a close, much to the relief of teachers everywhere. But before term ends, it’s time for the school play, or show, or end-of-term prize-giving, or whatever your child’s school calls it.  It’s a lovely time:  a time to celebrate our little ones and all that they’ve achieved over the year, and a time to sob a tiny bit at the fact that another year is over already.  And a time to curse the teachers as yet another note comes home in the book bag asking for a plain orange tee-shirt or twelve empty Pringles tubes, or an octopus costume, with a couple of days’ notice.

Grow Your Own Veg with Beta Mummy


Grow your own! They said. It’ll encourage your kids to eat vegetables! They said. Well I grew my own – or at least attempted to – but did it bollocks make my fussy Feral Child #1 eat his veg.

Getting Naked with Beta Mummy


If you’ve given birth to a child or children, chances are you’ve got what the media like to refer to as a “mum bod”, or a “mummy tummy”.  Few of us manage to escape unscathed from the rigours and strain of growing, carrying, birthing and nurturing a baby over nine months and beyond.  But aren’t we supposed to lose the mum-tum?  Victoria Beckham managed it.  Myleen Klass managed it.  Maybe you’re just failing to put the effort in?

Sunday lunch, the Beta Mummy way


I love a roast dinner.  Depending on my mood, my favourite is either roast lamb or roast pork.  Or roast chicken.  Or beef.  Basically I love roasted animal of any kind – but in my mind it’s all about the roast potatoes, the perfect roast potato is a glorious thing.  The thing about roast dinner is that there are a lot of trimmings, to really make it right.  You’ve got to have Yorkshire puddings, and stuffing.  At least three types of veg.  Gravy.  Maybe some pigs in blankets.  The whole thing takes a lot of time and effort to prepare, and then the whole lot gets scoffed in a disproportionately small number of minutes.

The Easter Beta Bunny.


Happy Easter everyone!  May your little darlings be little darlings, may family arguments over the last mini egg be few, may the hot cross buns be plentiful, and may you get the odd quiet moment here and there to enjoy a hot cup of tea (a.m.) and/or a nice big glass of wine (p.m.)*  🙂

I’m a Beta Mummy, breastfeeding


You know what, I have been putting off doing a doodle about breastfeeding for so long, and despite many requests.  Why, I hear you cry?  Because,dear reader, along with the whole fandango/sunroof birth thing (also not doodled as yet), it’s just so bloody contentious.  Whatever you say, and whatever angle you take, the nutcases crawl out of the woodwork and think it’s ok to start hurling accusations, guilt-trips and insults around.  So I’ll say it from the off – I won’t stand for it, it is just not cool.

Be(ta) My Valentine…


The vomit-inducing avalanche of red and pink hearts, novelty chocolates and fluffy handcuffs bombarding my senses every time I leave the house or switch on the TV can only mean one thing…the January sales are far behind us and it’s time to crack on with the next Capitalist date in the diary – Valentine’s Day.

5.56am


5.56am.  A time I see a little too often for my liking.  I hear a “Muuuuuuuuuum” calling from the bathroom, or a “thud thud thud thud” stomping along the hallway followed by a crash as the door is enthusiastically thrown open.  I mutter “for fuck’s sake” under my breath, open one eye and peer in the direction of my radio alarm clock which I no longer bother setting.  05:56.  05-fucking-56.  It always seems to be 5.56.

Nose-picking Shepherds and Bum-scratching Kings


Last week it was FC#1’s school nativity.  I like my son’s school for many reasons, but I particularly like the fact that they do a proper old-fashioned nativity.  None of this weird “holiday lobster/zebra/hamster” shit.  I am not remotely religious (far from it), but at this time of year you just can’t beat a good old sing-song at the local church and having a discrete weep at the overwhelming cuteness of little kids dressed as shepherds and angels.