Dear Elfie, I’m not sure this is working out….

The first thing Oddler said when she saw you up on the shelf tonight was:
“Has mummy been a good girl?”
You apparently replied no, and now Oddler tells me that Barbara Christmas won’t give me any presents.

I’m fairly sure I invited you to have some fun with the kids, but erm not at my expense.

Ladycurd the proud mother of a 3year old that is a lot smarter than she is.

P.S please tell Barbara I’m now on my best behaviour.


Dear Elfie, about the chocolate

Dear Elfie,
The plan was you taking the fall for the chocolate eating. Was NOT impressed when the first thing Oddler said on seeing you this morning was “oh no Elfie wanted chocolate but Mummy ate them all!”

Come on work with me here.
Love LadyCurd


Dear Elfie,

We are so excited you decided to come visit before Sunday as a super special treat. We were AMAZED when mummy was on the phone to you on the other side of the room and the next thing we knew you had come down the chimney and turned the fire fairy lights on. How did you do that!?

We can’t wait to see what adventures you will get up to over the next month until Christmas Day. We promise to try and be good so you can tell Santa but Mummy says you are a cheeky monkey too like us, so you won’t be too strict!
See you tomorrow
Lots of love
Oddler & Omble


Dear Women who don’t call themselves feminists. Think about it…

Dear Women who don’t call themselves feminists,

I used to be one of you. In fact I only started calling myself a feminist in the last two years. I “came out” as a feminist right here, and here,  here and erm finally here on this very blog. In fact I had to break this blog out from its rather extended hiatus (sorry I’ve been terrifyingly busy but will update more in the new year) just to write this post.

So there has been a bit of an upset about Mumsnet Blogfest and reactions to a panel including two real life friends of mine @Glosswitch & @SarahDitum who have written simply incredible responses here and here.  I’m not going to ramble on about that so much as I wasn’t there (but have watched the videos) and it all seems to have been woefully misconstrued by people with their own issues, and hats off to Glosswitch and Sarah who have handled it beautifully. Me I would have been weeping in the corner at all the unnecessary vitriol directed at me but then I’m always someone who likes things happy and easy and just wants everyone to like me……….

…….which is probably almost definitely why I never called myself a feminist until recently.

Feminism is hard work and once your eyes are opened to it, and I mean truly opened, to the extent of male violence and all the inequalities that women and girls will face just for being female, then erm its hard and its scary. Its terrifying to challenge things, to be that difficult person at playgroup or school trying to explain why X Y or Z actually isn’t okay.

I’ll hold my hands up and say I was blinkered. I didn’t want to hear, I didn’t want to see, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want it to make me angry or sad.

Back then I didn’t think my gender had affected me from achieving anything. Basically I was being selfish, “women’s issues” hadn’t really affected me, so I didn’t care, but then I started to think, think about my body image, gender roles in marriage, sex, makeup, abortion consent and my daughters growing up loads and loads of other stuff, and I finally truly really got it.

I had my lightbulb moment.

I even used to get upset at women who got angry at women who didn’t want to call themselves feminists. I didn’t call myself a feminist, and how dare anyone judge me for that?

But now I understand, & now  I have come full circle. I have read a lot of responses to this event with women declaring themselves not to be feminists, and showing a woeful misunderstanding of some of the issues at stake, and I want to tear the blinkers from their eyes (in a gentle non-angry way obviously!) and make them see, make them understand, make them listen.  I get why women were angry at me not calling myself a feminist. I am angry at the old me too.

That isn’t to say that it is okay to be verbally abusive at someone because they hold different opinions to you, because it most definitely isn’t. What I am asking is for you to think about it. Think about why feminism exists and what it means and what it needs, think about how your gender will have affected your life, really think deep down why you don’t want to call yourself a feminist. (Glosswitch once pointed out  to me that some women might not call themselves feminists so they don’t appear threatening to men and that  resonated with me. Maybe it will with you too. Why do women always need to be liked, to seek approval, to not shout, to not be aggressive…..?)

All I am asking is for you to just think*

Lots of Thinking Love


*P.S With an added caveat about  “and not responding aggressively to the person just asking you to think.”

*ducks back down below the parapet*.

Dear Dad, Margaret Thatcher has died.

Dear Dad,

Just to let you know Margaret Thatcher died. I don’t believe in heaven or hell but if you do happen to bump into her in the afterlife, I’m sure you would be kind due to her dementia even though I know how much you utterly hated the woman and the devastation she wrought on the mining community you hailed from. Your dad was a miner but died before she came into power- I think you were glad of he never got to see what happened to the village you grew up in.

I don’t think it’s nice to crow over someones death, I’d be sad if anyone was happy you died, even if you did have a knack of deliberately rubbing people up the wrong way sometimes.

I’m not happy she died, if anything her dying has bought my own grief for you up. She was always in the periphery of my childhood and so I remember happier but hard and worrying times in the eighties growing up. I remember being very scared when the Falkland war started as I was convinced I’d have to be an evacuee, and we were about to get bombed! This was despite the fact we lived in rural Midlands.  My primary school history lessons clearly had some kind of an impact.

I also remember we all knew she stole our milk but then I never really understood that one- we had to pay 10p for a carton of slightly warm milk or a glass of apple juice at breaktime and when in year6 me and a few other girls were made milk monitors and were allowed a free drink for our troubles- except we kept nicking more and more milk and juice and the profits went down.  Given I also wanted to be the next woman prime minister in Y6 maybe she had had more of an impact on me than I thought….

I don’t really remember joining you in solidarity on the miners strikes but I still have the picture from then (and you assure me I met and charmed Arthur Scargill aged three or four!). We still have the jigsaw somewhere made from this picture that mum got from saving up coupons from marmite jars. She would never let us actually do the jigsaw incase we lost a piece. It was recording history!

Anyhow. You’ve gone, She’s gone, Joe’s gone, Both sets of Grandma and Grandpa’s have gone, Becci’s gone, Sam next door went yesterday, one day we will all be gone, ashes to ashes and all that.

Death- bit shit really.

Miss you dad.


Dear Elderly Couple Buying Lightbulbs

Dear Elderly Couple buying lightbulbs,

It made me happysad when Mr Elderly Couple cheerily announced

“Oooh it says these new lightbulbs last 10years, just think, we will probably never have to buy lightbulbs again!”

Mrs Elderly Couple you looked a combination of faintly amused yet groaning inwardly at your husbands sense of humour, and yet also clearly slightly terrified of your future demise as you simply said “yes dear”.

I do hope you both get to experience the joys of purchasing energy saving lightbulbs again (although top tip -your electricity provider often gives them out for free) but more importantly I hope Mr Elderly Couple keeps up his sense of humour and you and Mrs Elderly Couple remain such a lovely clearly happy couple and that when your time does come that you get to shuffle off this mortal coil and towards the light (the light that takes several minutes to warm up and reach full brightness) together at the same time, so one of you never misses the other, bad mortality jokes and all.

Lots of Love

P.S You are role models for me &LordC. I want someone to write about doing something like that in 40years or so. 🙂

Dear “A Time to Grieve”

Dear “A Time to Grieve”,

So on the first anniversary of my Dad’s death the Times run an article on “grief blogging” and this blog didn’t get a mention- sniff. This blog was set up mostly to help me write out my grief and I reckon some of the following posts have helped me massively:

Dear International Spy Dad,

Dear Ghost Dad,

Dear Tramp in the street,

Dear Funeral,

Dear Grief,

Dear Dad,

Dear Grumpy Dead Dad,

Dear Laughing Dad in my dream

Dear Dad, Its been 6months

Dear Dad, Thankyou for not being David Davis

Dear Bereaved

Dear Dad, Happy Christmas

I don’t think I am very good at grieving. I don’t often let myself cry or be sad and sometimes I feel like a pressure cooker ready to explode but I just can’t give into the grief just incase.

Incase of what I don’t know. Maybe I am scared if I start I will never stop. Instead I delay, distract and disassociate.

Sometimes there is just too much going on in real life to allow time to wallow, time to grieve.

Today I planned to grieve, properly, I honestly did, its the anniversary of losing my dad, its what I am supposed to do right? It hasn’t really happened. We have the builders in so sobbing all day wasn’t going to happen with three strange men in my loft! LordC unexpectedly and wonderfully took the day off work and we mooched into town and had lunch. In honour of my dads heart and my own heart investigations on Monday I ordered a healthy lunch and a glass of Rose he probably would have liked. We meant to go and sit in the Botanic Gardens as dad loved it there but it was raining and we ended up in Poundland instead. Dad also loved it there but that’s not quite the fitting tribute I intended!

I suppose I have blogged somethings that have helped, and right this second instead of taking some time to have a good sob I am writing this post whilst I finish off my dad’s bottle of Christmas Baileys. I suppose that is how I grieve- making new traditions and memories in honour of my dad. although perhaps an annual poundland pilgrimage is a bit much.

The Baileys thing will always be my 31st Jan tradition from now on. Dad always used to buy me a bottle of Christmas Baileys, as he thought I liked it. I didn’t really and often it would still be around the following Christmas. Since he can no longer buy me a bottle of Baileys, I arrange for my brother to carry on the tradition of the Unwanted bottle of Baileys. We made Baileys Tiramisu on Christmas eve and there was just enough Baileys for a glass tonight.

So here’s to you Dad- A time to grieve and sip my Baileys and blog about a time to grieve without actually taking the time to grieve.

Such is life,

or death,

or something,