Mrs Helicopter Writes

We are always told that failing is good for us . It teaches us. It helps us grow. We learn from our mistakes. But what if it doesn’t? What if it just makes us feel really, really bad about ourselves? What if constantly failing damages us psychologically and emotionally for a very long time? How is THAT good for us? And even if we do learn something from our experience, what if those lessons don’t outweigh the oppressive feeling of low self worth? Failing to look at the camera I don’t think of myself as a failure in life. Even I’m not that dramatic. I don’t think I’m a particularly negative person either. In fact quite recently I read an article about how optimistic people are always late....that MUST mean I’m an optimistic person, right?! But I have some big fat failures under my belt. And as they stack up over the years I am finding it increasingly difficult to shake the feeling that I am pretty shit at a lot of stuff. And that’s not great for anyone’s self worth. ...

I have just had the misfortune of making 3 separate attempts at trying to produce a photo that Customs and Excise will feel is the truest representation of my face. At a cost of fifteen, FIFTEEN of your British Earth Pounds! I tell you! I don’t have that kind of money to fanny around with! I’m already being robbed blind paying out nearly £100 smackers for the privilege of having an up-to-date passport just so I can prove that I am MYSELF in any given situation (because it sure as hell isn’t anything as fun as a HOLIDAY. Although the “fun-ness” of holidays at my time of life is debated here …). In the photo it’s required that there is a white background, my head needs to sit neatly between two markers on the screen, I must have nothing on my face, neck, head. I must show no facial expression and DEFINITELY NO SMILING. Official guidelines here . Photo 1: It was rejected by the kind ladies at the post office counter who after much too-ing and fro-ing because I wa...

Why do people moan on social media? My big, moaning face. You know the ones I mean, the ones who moan that they “haven’t sat down all day” and “every flipping traffic light was red” and “ugh, someone didn’t change the bog roll AGAIN” and “shit, the kids have been utter bastards ALL DAY AND I NEED WINE”. Familiar? That’s because you probably follow me. I’m that person. So why do I do it? Why do I think anyone ever wants to read me moaning like a miserable, old cow? Because it’s life. It’s normal for people to have things to moan about in their daily life. It’s how us lovely Brits like to get through the day! Especially if you happen to mention the weather (and how shit it is!). Absolutely no one can go to bed and say their day has been perfect from start to end. Unless they are a) lying or b) have had a lobotomy. Because everyone can relate to it. Everyone knows how frustrating it is to get to a bus stop as the bus pulls off; or how annoying it is when someo...

Is the “Parent Blogger” market saturated? There are now thousands of us out there churning out blog posts left, right and centre. But how many more great parent bloggers will come forward trying to be the next super high profile power blogger? All clamouring to be called up to write opinion pieces for well known media sources or even the TV Mecca, an appearance on This Morning! There is certainly a wide pool of genuinely talented writers out there, all willing to write pieces for online newspapers for free in the ambitious hope that the exposure will send them stratospheric. (Those papers have it sussed! Great content, written for free!) Where will it end? Will we all just implode into some big blogosphere black hole leaving a sorry trail of burnt out lap tops, tablets and PCs behind us? Sure, lots of us SAY that we are just blogging for ourselves....as a little hobby or some “me” time or as an online diary for our families to read or whatever. But who, really, is gonna turn ...

I am so tired of being told how grateful I should be for my husband. I hear it all the time. Even my own Grandmother has said it to me. So what is allegedly so special about my husband? 1. My husband cooks. He will cook every night unless I want to cook something. 2. He cooked every night of both my pregnancies because I couldn’t stand the smell of ANYTHING. He also did all the washing up because it grossed me out and the washing cos I was knackered. He did virtually everything around the house. 3. He does most of the clothes washing. 4. He does the bins and the litter tray with little or no reminder. 5. He vacuums when it needs doing and not because I’ve asked. 6. He gets up with the kids every school day and gives them breakfast and gets one or both of them dressed. 7. He loves spending time with the kids and spends hours playing with them both. 8. He drives us everywhere. 9. He’s more than happy to stay in pretty much every night of the week and let me, if I ...

A few weeks ago, I had a bit of a shock in the school playground. I was chatting to another mum about our son’s teacher. She was saying she had a hard time communicating with her and I was saying I’d found the opposite to be true. I was then stung with this: “Yes, but its ok for you. You’re an older Mother, she respects you!” AN OLDER MOTHER. I was thrown! The girl I was talking to is 26, so not super young. I’m 38. I am an OLDER MOTHER. People see me as an OLDER MOTHER! I laughed it off but I was suddenly very aware (as I hadn’t been previously) of my age. I am an older mother…apparently. When I had my first kid at 33 (a week shy of 34) I was aware that I was oldish and actually older than I had hoped to be having my first child. But I didn’t massively dwell on it, I’d not settled down earlier in life because I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to settle down with. Most of my friends around my age, give or take a few years, were having babies at the same time. It didn’t feel that alien...

Are holidays with small children REALLY holidays? I mean, isn’t a holiday supposed to be a time to relax, enjoy yourself and enjoy new surroundings for a few days (or if you’re crazy, a week plus!)? Isn’t it just going to another place to do the same thing but with added mega stress? This was my cynical thought process after a particularly harrowing few days away in Portsmouth a couple of months ago. In fact, pretty much every “holiday” we’ve been on since having kids (which has involved between a few days and a week somewhere in the UK) has been stress city with, on very rare occasions, a few pockets of genuine fun at best. Our first holiday was in a lovely cottage in Cardigan, which is where we took Gus swimming for the first time. He was 4 months old. There were some genuinely lovely times but mainly we were on high alert the whole time, not in the slightest bit relaxed (despite the copious evening consumption of Pimms or wine or both). The surroundings couldn’t have been love...