2022: The Year™

I have wanted to start writing this post for weeks, because I knew it couldn’t be one that I just knocked out on New Year’s Eve. It’s not already written in my head, which some of my ramblings often are. This feels like it deserves more.

And yet it’s 31st December and I honestly don’t know where to start. How do I find the words, while deliberately avoiding the one beginning with C?

2020: The year that wasn’t

I’ve thought often about this blog post. One I’ve always done, and always enjoyed doing. But at the end of this year – 2020: The Year The Bin Went Out More Than Me™ – I don’t feel I have the words. Not funny ones, anyway.

Level 4: GO!

At this precise moment four years ago, I was sneaking in a final little nap while waiting in the hospital bed for the midwife to take me for a c-section. It was as if I knew that the (not so) little whirlwind about to come into my life would require as many cat naps as I could manage.

At 12:50pm you joined the world. All 10lb 7.5oz of you. The Boy. The man in my life. The car-obsessed, routine-remembering, sleep-loving, handsome, hungry chap. And now look! You might have aged me more than the years you’ve been holding my hand, but today you are most definitely 4.

Birthday business

Well, 2020 has been a hit (with a capital S), hasn’t it? I deliberately didn’t join in with the whole bloggy malarkey of documenting our every moment because – let’s face it – all the days just blurred into one, and it wasn’t all that exciting.

I don’t really remember the beginning or the middle of lockdown. Or last week. But it’s been long enough that, come September, I think I’ll have forgotten how to run the tight school-day ship that is needed to get 3 of us out the door by 8:30am. But…we survived. Relatively unscathed, too.

Planes, trains and washing machines: our 2019

And so, it came to pass, that once again it’s 31 December and no-one has a clue what day it is, let alone where the last 365 days have gone.

Ten years ago, I saw in the new decade with friends I’d made in the previous one. I wore a dress that turned out to actually be a top, and I drank port because I thought it was wine. Fast forward to today and so much has changed; when I drink port it’s deliberate, I have a whole tribe of friends that have also become a huge part of my life since having my little people, and I always wear trousers with my tops. Well, almost always.

Why Mummy gets on my nerves (written by The Boy, aged 2 and 3/4)

Someone has to take control around here.

Man alive it’s tough being me. Not only do I have to help myself to chocolate and crisps from the snack drawer, I now find myself writing for the Boss’ blog too. I say ‘the Boss’; that’s what she likes to think. But we all know who’s in charge around here, and it sure isn’t her.

Don’t get me wrong, she is very handy to have around. It’s like having a housekeeper and a childminder and a bedtime story reader and a chef AND a chauffeur. And she wipes my bum, so I will definitely let her stay. But she doesn’t half get on my nerves, and I’ll tell you for why…