Fiction and parenting experience articles. Both with attempted humour.
-Kids. Boys, girls, friends of my own kids. Good kids, bad kids. Kids of most styles, actually.
- Being late.
- Always having something on your top - not like an attractively fashionable brooch - more like yogurt from breakfast - not your own yogurt.
- How to row about utterly ridiculous things, such as whether or not the cat really did bury the reading book in the back garden.
- Being knackered. Always.
- Forgetting what it was like to hang out at the coffee machine gossiping. And calling it work.
- Having a snazzy confidence in dealing with all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds (B.C. ..Before Children), then growing large, lactating, losing all confidence and becoming a blubbering wreck in front of absurdly unimportant people - like the headmaster.
- Recovering from having kids! I don't mean oiling your stretch marks, I mean as in shopping for an attractively fashionable brooch, having nothing to do with breakfast yogurt, getting somewhere on time and facing off to the headmaster, just because you are, in fact, right.
My name is Virginia, I'm middle aged but only a teensy bit mumsey. Ok, I'm quite mumsey in the morning when I'm shouting things like "Have you made your bed ?" or "Where did you leave your reading book?!"...but the mumsey-ness fades as the day wears on and the coffee warms my writing inner self. Then I become a demon on the keyboard and dance my way through my romcom imagination. Stories - many of them true, some of them not, spill onto the page in rapid succession. Ok, sometimes they spill. Sometimes they just clunk, agonisingly and I have hours of battling the shoulder seated devil insisting that I check facebook for, say, any local nuclear explosions, or check lastminute.com - just in case there is a mega deal on New York 7 night stays starting at £59 inc flights.....Then, well, I get more coffee, do some gardening, make some shelves for the Victorian house I'm renovating, research how to parent an over active 6 year old or a shy 10 year old, check Instagram to see what my 12 year old is doing while he is supposed to be in history class (!), or organise something, usefully, for my executive husband. The good news is, I can't ever write about boredom - because I wouldn't have a clue how to describe it! Oh, and, by the way, I grew up in Canada, spent a couple of years in the States and then returned to England. So I talk weird. And think weirder.
Well....you know I could fill up this box as well...but with this and my friend's divorce being splattered all over facebook - I now have 45 minutes to complete the assignment I have due in on Monday! So...come back to me on this one... soon x
Location: Shropshire, UK
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