Haters Gonna Hate

My son: "I hate Chuggington".
Me: "You can't hate Chuggington".
My son: "Why not??
Me: "Because it has no worth to it, and therefore isn't worth hating".
My son: "But I do hate it".
Me: "You may dislike it, or it may not be your preference, but you cannot hate it. Hate is a really strong word for really strong things".
My son: "Like what?"

Me: "Like Oppression. You can hate oppression. Like Racism. You can hate Racism. Like Sin. You can hate sin. But you can't hate Chuggington. Not because you have to like Chuggington, but because it doesn't have the worth connected to it, to hate it".
My son: "What is oppression?" 

Me (pressing sons face into sofa, making him giggle): Oppression is pressing someone down. Keeping them down. Imagine my hand is the weight of these words being pressed down on you. 'You're worthless. You're rubbish. You're no good. You'll never do any better'. That is oppression, with a lot less giggling. With no giggling at all. You can hate oppression.

My son: "What is Racism?"
Me: "Racism is preferring someone because of the colour of their skin. Or rejecting someone because of the colour of their skin. Usually it means you pick the person most like you, and you reject the person not like you. You can hate racism".

My son: "Sin is everything we do wrong. So you hate everything we do wrong?"
Me: "Sin is not choosing God's way. God doesn't hate you, He loves you. But He doesn't like the naughty things you do. He hates sin. Because sin separates us from Him, and He doesn't want that. He loves you, and he loves me, but not what we do. And as your mum, my view is the same.

My son: Does God love the devil?"
Me: "No".
My son: Does God hate the devil?"
Me: "Yes. He is the opposite of what God is".
My son: "What if the devil says sorry?"
Me: "No he's different to us. We can say sorry and be forgiven. the devil can't".
My son: "And the devil hates us even when we do what he wants us to do?"
Me: Yes, he hates us when we're good, he hates us when we're bad".
My son: "But God loves us when we're good and He loves us when we're bad".
Me: Yes exactly".

My son: "So, I cant hate Chuggington, because it's just a cartoon?"
Me: "Yep, it's not big enough to hate. Hate isn't good for us. But some things are to be hated".
My son: "Why isn't hate good for us?" 
Me: "Roll yourself up into a ball, and hold onto yourself as hard as you can".
My son: (Muffled grunting noises, and more giggling, as he holds on tightly to himself).
Me: "You're all tied up, holding on. You can't breathe properly. You can't do anything. Hate does that, it ties you up, takes your breath away, stops you from living and being and doing. If you hate the wrong things, you get into this state. It makes you very bitter."

My son: "What is bitter?"
Me: "Bitter is when you can't let go of something and you can't forgive or move on, like how you are physically now. Now release yourself and relax".

My son: "Ahhhhh...." (as he unfolds himself and stretches out).
Me: "Now you're free to breathe, not holding on to anything, free to be you, free to do stuff and it feels much nicer. You've let go. That's what happens when we 'Let It Go' as Elsa would say. When you forgive someone, You are free".
My son: "Okay. Chuggington is a bit boring, but it's okay.
My daughter: "Boring is a rude word".
Me: "I think we've done enough for today".

"Love must be completely sincere. Hate what is evil, hold on to what is good".

Romans 12v9

Digging for Gems

One blog a month seems to be the rate at which we are going this year. Good job I've got some loyal followers, and my mum always ready to read the next one. So what's my excuse this time? Last time it was finding out that I wasn't Wonder Woman. Well, this time, August felt a bit hard wearing to be honest, but there is always stuff to learn and stuff to reflect on. Hindsight is a wonderful, humbling, slightly annoying thing.  

One of the little people in my life was poorly for the whole of August, and my role of course, was to look after her, to comfort her, to check on her, to sit with her, to be concerned for her, to feed her, to play with her and to Calpol her. This was quite tiring in the midst of parenting a few others, a youth camp, a family wedding, a family holiday, the six weeks summer holidays and a hospital trip. But it was also a bit lonely. I'm known for having a few strong urges towards being an extrovert, as does the one who was poorly. So we went for it wholeheartedly anytime lovely people visited us. I was very grateful for those visits, especially through a caravan window. 

Nearing the end of the summer, and when said poorly one was on the mend, I got a bit low for a few days. As well as the extrovert thing, I tend to fall in the 'glass half full' bunch of people too. (Especially if it's a wine glass). So it was a bit unusual for me. As I sat in hospital, and had a mini break from the hundredth episode of Peppa Pig, I read some of Andrew and Rachel Wilson's book, 'The Life you've never expected', and I was greatly encouraged and challenged. Comparison is never healthy, but their struggles are far greater than what I was going through. 

Having said that, Struggles are indeed struggles. And thankfully God is indeed God! The Wilson challenge was to find joy in it all. Actually to find 'Joy in God', in it all. Our number one priority in life, is to 'Be Happy in God'. And not some weird, fake, 'smiling like you're constipated' happy, but real happy. We can find Joy in God's word, the Bible. We can find it in people, in celebrating, and by being and speaking positively. We find joy when we remember the goodness of God, and in the discipline of doing these things regularly. I personally find Joy in taking photos and capturing moments. I'm sure the rest of the Wilson's book is wonderful, but I'm stuck reading this chapter for a while. It's good for the soul. And I'm capturing the moment. 

Funnily enough, while I was reading it, a friend who is having a really tough time at the moment, text me and said, "you've just got to look for the positives, in among the sh**", and I thought that was a fairly honest snapshot of what the Wilsons were trying to convey. It reminded me of my little one who was in hospital. She had found an old, dried piece of dirty play dough, but she was so excited because there was a gem in it. She dug at it until she got to that gem, and she was so pleased about it. 

We drew a picture of what was hard about being poorly in hospital; not seeing daddy, the cannula which made her arm sore, feeling hot and sad, and being sick. And then we drew the good things; the free play dough (brand new not just the skanky bit I mentioned), painting in bed, nice nurses, sleepover with mummy, Peppa Pig on repeat (I would have maybe put that in the other column), medicine to go in the cannula, the sick bowls which we could draw on, getting a new doll for being brave, friends visiting, the giant animal puzzle, the man who bought the Custard Creams, and God's love being wherever we go. (I added the Chinese Takeaway that was delivered by a friend, the coffee, Dairy Milk, the McDonald's dinner and the NHS...all definite Joy givers). 

It was important to teach my little one to find joy, to be thankful, and to stop and look for the gems even when they seem out of reach. Or maybe she taught me that one...

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again; Rejoice". Philippians 4v4

Wonder Woman...I Wish

So one blog a month over the last few months, what's that about? Well, as hard as it is to admit, it turns out I'm not actually Wonder Woman. I can't actually do it all. I started a childminding course, and something had to go. Either that 'something' was the husband, the six intrepid explorers I live with, the housework, my church, my people, Facebook or the Blog.... So out with the blog and in with the coursework.

It's not been as easy as I had hoped. I'm quite a 'Big Capacity' person so I thought it would just slot in with the rest of life. But it turns out, you don't get more hours added to your day, when you take something else on. You have to find those hours from somewhere else. Usually there is a cost, and it takes wisdom to not make that cost in the wrong place. I managed this at times, and failed at other times. Doing coursework instead of Facebook, is the cost of a few likes and cat videos. Doing coursework instead of reading the Bible is only going to make me think I can do it in my own strength. Doing coursework instead of cooking my own children's dinner is more of a compromise of the cereal kind. Doing coursework instead of housework, is a wonderful excuse.

At first, I thought the best time to start on the study would be when all the little people were in bed, but I had forgotten about 'mum syndrome' where the clock turns 8:30pm, a little person is still awake with phantom ailments, and you sit down at a computer screen and physically cannot function. Sure you can scroll up and 'like'. You can drink wine. You can snore, but you can't actually 'do' anything. You can't read or compute. You can't study or retain any information whatsoever. There's a slim chance you can load the dishwasher but even that's a push.

So I tried when the kids were playing. I was researching how important it is to a child's overall development for an adult to play alongside them, asking them open ended questions to enhance their learning and help them grow their skill sets. I researched these wonderful ideas on childcare while repeating the phrase "please go and play with your sister, so I don't have to" and asking the classic, "would you like another episode of Peppa Pig on?" until the dreaded "no" comes. (It does come after an extensive period of time, and it's probably best that there is a limit).


Eventually through shipping my own kids out, working late, grabbing an hour here and there, utilising that beautiful hour and a half where the big girl is at nursery, the baby asleep, the boys at school, and no one needs me...I did it. I handed it all in. I swallowed my pride, and re-did the assignments that came back incompetent. I gave examples of how to look after a baby, a three year old and a six year old all at the same time, whilst attempting to do it in practise. I gave the detailed description of how to make a Formula bottle, while feeding the baby Wotsits. I shed a tear or two, text a friend or two, questioned why I was doing it. Got scarily interviewed by Ofsted, which caused my house to be epically tidy. (Think the husband wishes Ofsted were coming every day) And it got done. Phew!

Maybe Wonder Woman will be part of my advertising, as I defend the weak, seek justice, truth, and love for the new little people in my house. As I engage in battle to bring peace, fearlessly focussed on my objectives of Play Dough, glitter and cup cake making. Stretching the analogy only slightly too far, I didn't have superhuman powers given to me by my Father Zeus, but I desperately needed the strength given to me by my Father in Heaven. I needed His help and His perspective, as well as His provision of people around me. I needed my own Justice League; friends who I could actually ask for help from, rather than fail alone. My very own Batman and Superman. My very own Green Lantern, Aqua Man, Manhunter and Flash. I'll leave my friends to fight out who they are...

I may not have the knee length boots, but I do have the t.shirt, the pants and other assets... as well as an All Powerful Father who gives me strength to conquer.

"I lift my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the maker of Heaven and Earth. Indeed He who watches over Israel will neither sleep nor slumber". Psalm 121

What Are You Fighting For?

One of my kids this week had to go and knock on a friend's door and apologise for hurting their feelings. Did they want to? No not really. It was embarrassing and they had to swallow some pride. But they had hurt their friend. It took a lot of guts to admit they were wrong and say sorry, and hope for forgiveness and reconciliation. But we went together and they did it. Why did they go through with it? Well for two reasons; they wanted to mend their friendship and because loving people is a really big deal. I could have listened to my child's, "I don't really want to go, it feels hard" comments, but I want more for my kids than an easy cop out. I want them to fight hard for peace, for love, for reconciliation,  and for restoration. 

This week the news has been awful. A hideous shooting in a gay nightclub, left 49 dead and 53 injured. A young MP, mother of two was brutally murdered. 50 people were mercilessly killed in an explosion in Syria. It has been shockingly sad. This makes it even more clear as to why I want my kids to fight hard for peace, for love, for reconciliation, and for restoration. It's what we should all be fighting for.

Kids annoy each other. It's like an inbuilt thing. I used to annoy my brother and he was a pain. My kids get annoyed when one of their siblings look at them, don't look at them, breathe near them, sing at them, walk in their room, walk out their room, take their stuff, give them stuff, change the TV channel, sit next to them and so on and so on and so on...

I spend most of my day stopping them, and asking them to love the other one more than they love themselves. Literally, this is the thing I say the most. And it may seem pretty harmless some of the stuff they do, but I want them to grow up loving others more than they love themselves, so I start with the slightly pathetic "he breathed near me" complaints, so their hearts are trained to love and accept, no matter what they feel. 

When Jesus was asked what the greatest commandment was, He said to "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, your soul, your mind, and your strength". He went on to say "Love your neighbour as you love yourself". 
So after loving God, He wants us to love others. That's His heart. 

I have many different 'neighbours', many different friends. Some of them are just like me. Some are different to me. Some are Christians, some are not Christians, some are Atheists. Some are single, some married, some divorced, some widowed. Some of my friends are gay, some are black, some are Muslims, some are Welsh. Some are highly educated, some didn't finish school. Some of my friends are voting to stay in Europe, and some are voting out. And I am asked by the one who loves all, to love them all. So I will fight to train my kids to love others, no matter what. Otherwise I do fear for their generation, as I'm saddened by the lack of love towards others, in mine.

Eyebrow Shaping

Tomorrow, one of my sons will start a week of SATs tests. This hasn’t been an easy ride for him. He was worried he might not get a job if he fails them. He called himself stupid, compared himself with others and there have been some tears along the way.

It’s hard, watching someone you love doubt themselves. You just want to fix everything and make it all right. But I know I can’t protect him from all that life throws at him along the way. And I simply shouldn’t. We all grow through the tougher seasons. I can teach him, and comfort him. I can encourage him and build him up. But ultimately he needs to find his security in who God has made him to be, the purposes God has for His life, and to trust God with what lies ahead.

God has made this son of mine to be wonderfully creative. If the SATs paper was on cartoon drawing he would ace it. But it’s not. And the journey over the last few months has been to let him know that that is okay. Maybe he will ace his SATs, and maybe he won’t. But my love for him won’t change. God’s plans for his life won’t change either.

This son of mine doesn’t worry what people think of him, a brilliant quality a lot of adults would like. He is selfless and sensitive. He is a faithful friend, an excellent swimmer, and has intricate design ideas when it comes to Lego. He has an expertise in Marvel knowledge. None of these things are tested on a SATs paper. 

As an analogy, if I looked at my son as a whole body, the SATs prep and indeed the SATs test are the equivalent of eyebrow shaping, and even then, the shaping of one eyebrow. Sure you put some effort in, but in the blink of an eye, life goes back to normal. When this week of tests finish, he will hopefully go back to whatever was normal for him. (Plus a new Lego model for getting through!)

I drew a person, (not as well as he could draw one, but that's okay because we're different). I put 'Literacy' and 'Maths' as eyebrows. We then filled in the rest of his body with his hobbies, his strengths, his likes, his God-given identity, just so we could see that Literacy and Maths are important, but they don't make him who he is. The last few months have been teaching him that SATs do not define him. Tests do not define him. School does not define him, and actually I do not define him either. God has designed him, and the cross defines him. He is a forgiven sinner, saved by grace. He will also come to see that some of his weaknesses/failings play a part in shaping him. Or rather how he learns to deal with those weaknesses/failings, but who he is in God, and who he is to me, that's already cemented in. That can't be re shaped.

The challenge for me is to know that I too am a forgiven sinner, saved by grace. What do I allow to define me? My abilities, my roles, my responsibilities, what I’m good at or bad at, what I should or shouldn’t do, comparison with others? Or do I allow the cross to define me? Do I base God’s love for me on what I’m acing at, what I'm failing at? Or on God’s UNCONDITIONAL  love for me? Am I free to be who He has called me to be? It’s one thing teaching your child all this when it comes to exams and tests, but it’s another thing living in the truth of it for myself, in every day life and the tests it throws at me!

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well”. Psalm 139v13-14

Woman On A Mission

There are four different versions to the Asda shop for me. There's the on line version, which takes a bit of prep and you don't get to see or feel stuff, so that usually rules that one out for me.

There's the usual one where I have one or two of the girls with me. I am a Woman on a Mission, and this shopping success rate is based on the tiredness of the girls and how well they cope with the trolley seating arrangement. (Being in close proximity to a sibling can cause one's child to simply overload and explode it seems). It also depends on whether I have brought a dummy with me, whether anyone needs a wee or does a poo, and where along the route I give into the many requests of "Can I have...?" If I peak too early, then they think they can ask for everything and get it. If I peak too late, there is potential for another overload and explosion, resulting in screams at the checkout. And they're not fun for anyone. We've all see or heard these in action, where Wasabi peas or chewing gum is flung at the child in a desperate plea for peace. 


The rarer, and less preferred option, is when for some reason I have to take all six kids with me. Crazy Woman on a Mission! Yeah. Rock and Roll. Move out the way. Clear the aisles. This shopping success rate is based on two questions towards the end of the excursion; 'Have I still got the right six kids with me?' and 'Is there some food, any food in the trolley?' 
If the answer is yes, then it is a win.

I've worked at this one, because otherwise I'm setting us all up to fail. I add £5 to the budget. They all have £1 each to spend. Call it 'Positive Reinforcement' or bribery, I don't care. It works. It can't all be spent on sweets and it can't be spent on alcohol. Me and the oldest take a list each, split the fighting pairs up and start the mission. This one has come to an abrupt standstill before, because some lady's 'bus load of kids' opened the Fire Escape doors and set all the alarms off! 

The third beautiful option, is where I go alone. Ah it's always a success, right from the start even as I drive there. I listen in the van; nothing. I wander aimlessly up to George clothing, and look at clothes which aren't even on the sale rail. Might even choose an item. (After all, what comes out of the Asda budget, stays in the Asda budget). I plan the week's meals as I go along; What looks tasty? What's on offer? I wander down each aisle I choose. I usually buy myself a treat somewhere along the unplanned route. I eat it right there and then, in public, not rustling away in secret. There's no one to hide it from, and no one to share it with. Mwahahahahaha! I usually buy wine. Seems a fitting finish to this Spa type excursion. I cannot use the wine as the 'treat along the way' though. (My mission is to time this particular shop so the kids are already in bed before I get home). 

I added a new mission in my head this last time. I put everything through the Self Scan. I pretended I wasn't playing shops, and carefully bagged it all. My mission was to have no 'unidentified items in the bagging area'. I hate unidentified items in the bagging area so much. And I did it. Go me. I didn't have the Asda person come over, with their special lanyard, not even once. This mumma was winning on her mission. 

With parenting, and maybe just with life, I've come to accept that there are days, or hours, maybe just minutes when you're a woman on a mission, and you're just winning at it. And there's days where you don't even know where your hairbrush is, let alone what mission you're on. 

The thing is with the word mission, it's actually as much about the trip, the commission, the journey, the expedition as it is about an end goal as such. And if it's a journey, then you can rest along the way, you can take different routes, you can stock up in the different aisles, you can have others walk alongside you, you can slow your pace down, or pick it up even. You may even gather some unidentified baggage along the way, but you can ask someone to carry the load for you. I'm pretty secure of my Final Destination, I know I'm going to my Father's House, where He has many rooms and a great feast waiting for me. And I know that because of Jesus, I'm always winning, no matter what the mission.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world". John 16v33

Because My Baby Cried

I'm squashed inside a toddler bed
Because my baby cried.
I didn't want her to be alone,
So in this space, I climbed.

I'm weeping inside this toddler bed
Because my baby cried.
Tears are rolling down my cheek,
Another friend's baby has died.

I'm thinking inside this toddler bed
Because my baby cried,
Of the grief and of the heartache,
My friend is carrying inside.

As I lay inside this toddler bed
Because my baby cried,
I can't not cry for my friend
In sisterhood, come alongside.

It's not comfortable inside this bed
Because my baby cried.
I remember my own lost child.
In my Heavenly Father, I confide.

Still tearful inside this bed
Because my baby cried.
I name each baby who I know,
In Heaven, now abides.

I hold my squirmer in her bed
Because my baby cried.
I find myself asking why,
To my comforter and my guide.

My heart it wrestles inside this bed
Because my baby cried.
No answer comes But I know I'm heard.
In Him I can abide.

I smile from inside this bed.
My baby no longer cries.
I'm just grateful she woke me up,
So I can lay by her side.

"The Lord is close to the broken hearted,
And saves those who are crushed in spirit".
Psalm 34v18

Happily Ever After

Today is World Book Day. So a lot of mums, (and dads) plan in advance, bringing their child's favourite book character to life, carefully sewing an outfit together. Other mums scramble around the night before (or even the morning of), whipping up a costume based on what face paint colours they have, or what is in the dressing up box, hoping there is a character in a book which loosely relates. Then the kids get sent off to school or nursery and the photo gets uploaded to Facebook. I love it.

There's always that parent who has dressed their kid up as a character that no one else has heard of. 
And there's usually some princesses and a Batman close by. 
We had a reluctant Cinderella, in the dress the mice made, because I found a pink dress this morning, not a blue one! My favourites this year were a Pink crayon and Katniss Everdeen, as well as every teacher and teaching assistant that goes all out. 

It seemed fitting to read some books to the reluctant Cinderella, so I started with Superworm. I got about one sentence in and her questions and observations started. Why this? Why that? Look at this. Look at that. I answered her questions as quickly as possible and carried on with the story, especially when she broke in mid rhyme. The husband had to remind me that I may not even get to the end of the story and that what she was doing was the best way to do it. I know all children's authors everywhere would shudder at me just pushing on, rather than using the book as the tool it was designed for. A tool for quality time together, a tool for learning and asking, a tool to start the love of books. So we sat and chatted about the worm, and the beetle, and the frog, and the bug, and the soil and so much more. It was of course lovely, as reading a story to a child just is. 

I was reminded how we are all a different character in one big story, Jesus' story. 

I sometimes think He is part of my story. How it's all about when I became a Christian, and when I need Him. But the truth is that we are part of His story. His story of rescue and love. His story of adventure and risk. His story of Good overcoming evil. His story of a battle which provided hope. His story of Redemption, with of course, a Happily Ever After. 

How wonderfully patient He is when I stop to look at something or ask a question or get distracted. He knows I'm learning along the way. He doesn't rush me on because He already knows how the story ends.

 "He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen." Revelation 22v20-21

Dragon Warrior

Some days the kids make film choices, which literally hurt my soul. Either I have seen it one too many (hundred) times, or it's just a terrible film. 'Back to the Future II' has been played so frequently, that they have ruined one of the classics for me, and as for 'Shark Boy & Lava Girl', I just can't even find the words.
Today, one of the boys chose to watch Kung Fu Panda II; always a welcome favourite of mine. I'm hoping they never over play it. 

I love Jack Black as Po, the panda. He is just so funny. And I feel our humour is of similar a standard. I love that his great enemy is the stairs. I hear him on that one. I love that when he is finally determined to win a battle, he says "I am Po, and I'm going to need a hat". Classic. But the thing I love best about the tubby little panda is how completely incompetent he is for the job of Dragon Warrior. He's out of shape. He uses humour as a defence mechanism (not sure why I relate to that). He's not focused. He trips over. He makes huge mistakes, he comfort eats, and people are constantly raising their eyes at him.

As my son watched it today, we laughed at the same old bits together. I asked him if he knew why I liked Po so much, and as I gave the above reasons, I said that Po reminded me of a lot of people in the Bible, who had great destiny on their lives, but mucked things up. Moses was called upon to 'free the captives', and he was all like "Mmmm, me? I don't think I'm up to it. Can I call a friend?" There's Joseph who had the fancy coloured coat, and did wonders for the people, and the banking system in his generation. But he did also kill a man. There's Peter, who Jesus 'built His church upon', who did deny there even was a Jesus, of course. Rahab bravely helped God's spies escape, and she was a prostitute. 

Why would God use such people? Weak people who got it wrong and messed up? Because that's you and me. That's all of us. God uses the incompetent, out of shape, unfocused mistake makers. Po and the great characters of the Bible, encourage me to keep going, to live my life for Jesus, to do what He has called me to do, knowing that I'll probably mess up. God is well aware of my weaknesses. He's expectant of me to fall into them. And that is so releasing, to know that I am going to get it wrong, but that there is grace and love for me when I come and say sorry to Him. Grace and love for me to 'have another go'. What's the worst that could happen? Honestly, that would be to lose God's love, and He has promised me that will never happen. So, I may as well go for it, whatever it is... whatever His will is, even if I'm to be the next Dragon Warrior.


I always find it amusing when some of my kids' friends, and mine say "Oh you're not allowed to do that, cos you're a Christian". We've never said we're perfect and couldn't profess to be so, even if we wanted to. Too many people know us, to know that we are by no means perfect. We're nowhere near perfect parents. They thankfully don't exist, so there's no point even comparing. And our kids are little bundles of mess and trouble, because they have sinful hearts like every last person on this planet. 

But of course, there is a perfect Heavenly Father. He perfectly loves us and still uses us no matter how wrong we get it, no matter how lacking in faith we are, no matter how imperfect we are. He has great things for each of us to do. I know God has called me to biblically raise six children, who will hopefully all love and follow Him. I know he has called me to biblically love my husband, selflessly. I know He has called me to worship Him and bring others to know Him. Am I doing it perfectly? No. Does He know that? Yes. Does He still love me? Yes. Is there more for me to do? Yes. Am I a dragon warrior? Not so much. Am I an out of shape, comical panda, with great destiny? Yes I believe I am.

The Lord makes firm the steps
    of the one who delights in him;  though he may stumble, he will not fall,
    for the Lord upholds him with his hand. Psalm 37v23-24

Out With The Old, In With The New

It's a new year. A 'New' year; A year for fresh starts and change, a year of innovative ideas and renewed energy. A year to go for it and look ahead to what could be. A year full of the unknown, with huge potential.

Or... I'm a mum, so pretty much the same old stuff really. There's washing to be done and beds to be made. There's school shoes to buy and lunches to make. There's stories to read and hair to wash. There's bums to wipe and noses to blow. There's nits to search for and dog poo to clean off.  There's towers to make and laces to tie. There's questions to answer and tears to wipe. There's homework to do and discipline to give. It's the same, year in and year out.

Sometimes at the end of the year, it's easy to forget what has happened the year before. It can blur from yesterday's dried on Weetabix to today's dried on Shreddies, from last week's grocery shop to this week's identical one, (with maybe the added excitement of dishwasher tablets on offer).

So, on New Year's Eve, we sat and looked through a montage of the year's photos. We had a box of Celebrations, (another one) and we highlighted our best bits, chatted about the memories created from the photos, and we celebrated the year gone by. It is always good to celebrate what has been, and what God has done.
(Equally, what He hasn't done, but what He's taught us in the process). It does something good to the soul, when you stop and remember, and give thanks and eat chocolate. The Old Testament is full of moments where someone does this. They realize what God has done, they build an alter or a pile of stones and they name it 'whatever God has done here'.

So, for our family, there were many piles of stones to look back and be thankful for. (There was some rubble along the way too, you know the bits which trip you up, cause some pain or slow you down a bit. But they're not for today).
There were new arrivals to celebrate; our second beautiful daughter, a longed for nephew, and of course a shiny new motorbike. There were weddings to enjoy, and the life of a legendary Great Grandad to remember. There was the epic drive to Spain and the fun we had there. There was a motor bike tour of Europe and of course, the day he came home.
There were crazy birthday parties and wonderful baptisms. There was a 'GOOD' Ofsted report and the day we met Olaf. There were Lego days in and 'Out Out' nights out. And that's the things we could see and photograph, not to mention our Heavenly Father's provision, forgiveness and constant grace.

So, as I look to the year ahead, I am reminded to stir up my soul, to be expectant of the year ahead and what God will do.  I am reminded to indeed see it as a year for fresh starts and change. A year full of the unknown, with huge potential. Because even in the mundane, in the day to day 'sameness', He wonderfully remains the same. He is steady and unchanging, and I know that living for Him, saying Yes to all He asks of me, will be the best thing I can do on a day to day, year to year basis.

Thank you God, for the bountiful blessing of my children. Thank you that there's washing to be done and beds to be made, school shoes to buy and lunches to make, stories to read and hair to wash, bums to wipe and noses to blow, nits to search for and dog poo to clean off, towers to make and laces to tie, questions to answer and tears to wipe, homework to do and discipline to give.

Because that means I have a little tribe to teach and reveal more of God to. That means I get to prepare the next generation to be expectant of all God can do for them. I must never be lacking in zeal for that. I must keep my spiritual fervor, when serving the Lord, as their mum, in every new day! Gulp. God please help me. I cannot do this alone. I am indeed lacking in zeal. But you have yet to let me down, so here I go again. (Romans 12v11)

Dear Princess Catherine... #myhero

Your Royal Highness,

I'm writing to tell you I think you're pretty fab. Always nice to get fan mail I'm sure. (Well, for me it is). I'm also writing to ask you if I can interview you for my blog; One Pink Toothbrush?
The blog is about being a mum; the fun and frustration involved, and how our mothering journeys are all different, but as mums, we can relate to one another and cheer each other along.

The title would be 'Mothering a Royal'. And that's where you come in, as not many of my other friends are members of the Royal Family.

I have so far interviewed a Mother of Many, a Mother of a Special Needs Child, and a Young Mother, to name a few. I'd love to hear how similar and how different it is, to mother a Royal.

Now, I'm also aware that you're busy, very busy. Not only are you a mum, but also a public figure, and a member of the Royal Family, so it may not be the done thing to be interviewed for a blog. However, there is also no harm in asking. So this is my ask.

The reason behind OnePinkToothbrush, (which has no sponsorship or advertising), was that I used to just be a mum of four boys, so mine was the only pink toothbrush. However, I have now added two princesses into the mix. (Princess in the loosest term of course).

My questions would be; 
* What is the best bit about being a mum?
* And the hardest?
* What does it take to raise a Royal? A Prince? A Princess?
* And what colour is your toothbrush? 

I hope you'll consider it. You seem such fun. I understand you may not be able to, and that is fine too. Of course I'd be sad for a week or two, and would write a blog post about it. I would carry on mothering mine, and you will carry on mothering yours. I'd see you in 'Hello' magazine from time to time, and no doubt you'd follow my blog.

Biggest thanks to you or your staff for reading this. I'm looking forward to hearing from you or them. Keep loving your man and your beautiful children, in the private places of home, as well as in the public arena.

Yours Sincerely.....

Spilt Milk

It was inset day today, which means a whole extra day of fun, added onto the end of half term, with my favourite little people. Sometimes, I genuinely mean that and sometimes I'm just being sarcastic. I'm not sure which one today was. I know inset days are special days for teachers; they get to be in their classrooms, with it all neat and tidy, in complete silence. 
I secretly hope they run down the corridors and jump off the house in the middle of the playground, just because they can. 

For me, I had some stuff to do. I wasn't going for neat and tidy. Let's not break the habit of a lifetime. But I was hoping for some space; some quiet undisturbed time to get a talk written. 

So, one was allowed on his brother's Kindle from very early, while the other three had a movie on at 7am. The baby seemed quiet in her room, so no need to disturb her. I ignored the fact that the one who has a dummy for sleeps, still had it safely plugged in. I may have even got her a blanket and her Woof Woof so she remained in that sleepy snuggled up mode. I put the toaster to good use, and served up everyone's favourite spread of choice, enough to not be asked for more. And I gave everyone a cup of milk with those famous, yet foolish mummy words, "Don't put the milk on the floor. It will get spilt, and spilt milk on a carpet has to be cleaned well, so it doesn't stink". (Why would I say that? I've been a mum for years...I know they only hear the last bit...something about putting milk on the floor...)

I closed the door to the lounge and sat at the kitchen table, and I breathed in the silence. In through the nose, out through the mouth.... And of course the kitchen door flung open and a boy walked in to get a tea towel, with the look of sheer unbelief, and even a shake of his head. I asked what might possibly have happened, and he explained how his brother had spilt his milk. The brother hadn't spilt their own cup of milk, no the brother had spilt the tea towel bearer's milk. Ah the 'whodunnit', the 'wasntme' syndrome which some of mine suffer from. I asked the boy with the tea towel in his hand, if he had indeed placed his own cup of milk on the floor. Yes he had, only for his brother to go and spill said milk. Ah how I love these little fun conversations. Eventually he conceded that even though his brother was the one to spill the milk, the milk may not have got spilt at all, if he had just listened to dear old mum and done what she had said, in the first place. 


That's a tricky one to learn though isn't it? I remember my mum saying to me that if I did pinch my brother, I was highly likely to get the whip of a wet tea towel across my legs in return. And even though I knew she was probably right, I still tempted fate many a time. She was right. Us mothers often are, when it comes to these things. 

I got up, got the wet dish cloth and the washing up liquid, and proceeded to wash the spilt milk out of carpet. My son said that he was going to do that, that's why he got the tea towel. I told him that it needed cleaning in a different way, to make sure there was no stench. And then that beautiful teaching moment came... 

We know God's advice, His perfect way of doing things, is right and good, but we want to try our own way first, and then hardly surprisingly, we get it wrong. We may even blame someone else for our mistake, our failing, our sin. Next we try and clean up our own mess; masking it, trying to do better, hoping to be good. But if we just do this, the stench of sin remains. We can't clean ourselves up. We can't be good in our own strength. Instead we need to be cleaned properly, not by Fairy Liquid, but by Jesus' blood. We need Jesus to forgive us and purify us, when we say sorry for going our own way again. He lovingly chose to do this for us at the cross, and continues to teach us about His righteousness, His goodness, on a daily basis. 

"We have much to say about this, but it is hard to make it clear to you because you no longer try to understand. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil."
Hebrews 5v13

Left a Bit, Right a Bit.

My children try to balance on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes it's on big bits of wood in the garden, or on their dad's shoulders in the swimming pool, or it's on a spinny thing in the park, or maybe standing on top of something smaller than their foot, as high up as they can get. And sometimes it's just simply standing on one foot. The risk is usually increased if their dad or an uncle gets involved. 

They like to push themselves a bit; can they keep upright rather than fall to the right or the left, the front or the back? Arms out to the side, with the crucial element to any balance attempt - the sticking out of the tongue! 

Sometimes they get it right first time, and perfectly balance with a quick shout of "Muuuuum, look at me". And sometimes they get water up their nose or a scab on their face. Somehow mine have yet to break a bone or even an uncle. And as we know, there are always lessons to learn from the little people in our lives.
T

Last Monday, I had one of those non-stop days. It started off like any other day, getting six kids up and fed and dressed, wishing I was one of those mums who did the lunches the night before. Sent the biggest off on the bus, then it was the school run. Home to put the dishwasher and the washing machine on. A quick dash to the dentist for a crown, followed by the weekly Asda shop, and after that some heart wrenching baby immunisations, with a nearly three year old who had A LOT of questions for the nurse. Home to unpack the Asda shop, while giving the girls some lunch. Cleaning the kitchen, while pureeing a vegetable for the baby, putting the washed dishes away and the wet clothes on the dryer. Then it was the school run, and from that point on, the day is filled with listening to, feeding and separating the six little people as necessary. Oh and a dishwasher to re load, with the decision of whether or not to make sandwiches for the next day. I went to bed, under a pile of dry washing and felt satisfied but exhausted. 

Then it was Tuesday. Same start; six little people to get up and feed and get to school. And that was where the similarity ended. I built a pink den for my little bundle of stereotypical pinkness, and we drank tea and ate snacks. I was going to put my two favourite machines on, but didn't quite get round to it. I did fill up the tea bag jar, and that's about it. We watched far too many episodes about a pig called Peppa. Then we all had a nap, watched an explorer called Dora and then did the school run. We had a pizza tea in front of the tele, and the baby tried Quavers for the first time.

The two days were rather contrasting. The Monday looked pretty successful; clean dishes, clean sides, clean clothes, an immunised child, no spare minutes; busy, busy, busy. Tuesday looked like a bit of a fail in some senses; far too much tele, not the healthiest dinner, bowls of dried Weetabix still by the sink. (And once that stuff dries, you know you've had it!) And nothing greatly achieved.

What's the lesson to learn from the little people? Life requires balance. Maybe not the 'take a risk on a tall piece of wood' kind of balance. But some level of risk nonetheless. For some of us, we quite like the pink den days maybe a bit too much. Maybe it requires quite a push to not be lazy, and to aim for more productive days. For others, they may be all about the achieving and filling of every minute, and may not quite know how to have a slower paced or even restful day. And for most of us we have that 'Mother Guilt' whatever we're doing, or not doing...

My Monday, although successful in some ways, also left me feeling a bit bewildered and out of breath, frazzled and in need of space. My Tuesday was lovely; chilled time with the girls under a blanket of pink, but nothing got done which ultimately doesn't serve this family as yesterday's breakfast dishes become tomorrow's added chore! If all my days were Mondays, life wouldn't work for me. I'd be quite anxious and stressed to be honest. And as much as I hate to admit it, if all my days were Tuesdays, it just wouldn't work either. The house wouldn't get cleaned and therefore I'd probably be quite anxious and stressed, or maybe my family would instead. I need the balance in my life. I need the days when I get stuff done, including serving the husband and the kids. And I need the chilled days of rest, and time with my kids. Or I need both in the same day. 

Thankfully God designed us in His image. He is perfectly ordered and pro active. He also knows what it means to be rested. When He created the world, He had days of purpose and achieving, and He had a day to rest and look at the world around Him. Not only do I topple and fall if my week doesn't have balance, but my kids are looking on. Do they see laziness, or overworking? Do they see me striving to achieve, or not that bothered? And more importantly do they see me leaning on God on both my Mondays and my Tuesdays? Thankfully He is available to me everyday of the week. And He has great grace for me, whether I fall to the right or the left, the back or the front. 

So it's time to stick my tongue out and either go for a nap or bleach the loos. 

"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them—yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me."
1 Corinthians 15v10

"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work."
Genesis 2v2