Glue ear and fitting in.

What do I love about being a mum or Mummy, mm tough one I could go a sugary sentimental journey but hat just not me. So what I love the most perhaps the up most is arguing with my son.

A puzzling choice , not a knee jerk reaction of a other? read on then you will see why I love with my son after all every good story has a truely heart felt conclusion doesn't it.

Well when J was born he  was a normal baby until all the problems started happening, the constant eczema which is inherited. The sudden coughing fits and gastric problems. the fussy eating, the projectile vomiting.

As he grew then there was the sudden tiredness and falling asleep anywhere ( asthma ) the allergy to food colourings. The inability to live my side, his allergy to cats ( we had to get rid of our cat)s. yes J was one nervous child constant trips to the hospital seeing various medical professionals.

Then more problems came then there was the problem with him being slightly sugar slow and then the bouts of anemia.

Whilst I appreciate these problems aren't as severe as many problems experience with their child of children it is still heartbreaking as well..

Throughout out this I had noticed  that J was not communicating , he had passed his baby hearing test hardly rocket science when he took it.

J was born in September 1998 and looking at an entry from his health book dated June 2000 that he has made little progress with his speech. The silly health visitor said his comprehension appeared good, well it wasn't I assure you. The toing and froing continued with the health visitors still ignoring me. This continued until around October 2001 when J still wasn't really speaking. Eventually after basically a sit in protest at the doctors we got a referral to the hospital where he was diagnosed with Glue ear. He had his operation to have grommets inserted after the usual long weight for an the operation.

Progress was slow but really came into its own on a holiday to Center Parcs in March 2002 when he was three and a half We were on our bikes and J was in a child seat behind me, a squirrel ran in front of me and J said " Bloody Squirrel" and j repeated this all day.

J had been learning sign language at nursery and and a least now there was a focus on his language skills , of course this had now developed. He was a slow learner at Infant School because of his previous problems, nervous and clingy. We had  problems with parties etc he still wouldn't leave my side till he was nearly seven. I just plonked him into beavers one day and ran , same with football cruel but kind and as a result he developed.

So that's why I love arguing with him he has developed into a heartfelt young boy who knows his own mind and is making his own way in the world. He is an academic high fly er play rugby for our County , top sport mans for the schooll. Plays a musical instrument he is an all rounder. What more could I ask for than an argument about his sock draw...?

Divorce What Happens After

Divorce, when it happens, is rarely confined to the two people signing the papers. It’s often described as a rupture within a household—but for children, especially teenagers, that rupture can extend far beyond the immediate family. The ripple effects are subtle, often invisible to outsiders, yet they can last for decades.

I was a teenager when my parents divorced. Like many at that age, I was old enough to grasp the emotional complexity, yet too young to influence any of the decisions that were being made around me. The assumption then—both mine and others’—was that the storm would pass, and relationships would eventually stabilise. In time, the adults would move on, and the family, though reshaped, would remain intact.

What I didn't expect was how the divorce would quietly redraw the boundaries of my extended family. Aunts and uncles, once warm and present, grew distant. Messages were left unanswered. Plans to meet were subtly discouraged or awkwardly ignored. What began as occasional silences turned into lasting absences. Over the years, it became clear that some relatives had quietly placed me in an emotional category I hadn’t signed up for.

It’s a difficult thing to name, this kind of exclusion. It’s not overt. It rarely comes with confrontation or explanation. Instead, it settles in the small spaces: the unreturned call, the empty chair at a gathering, the polite indifference when you reach out. There’s no open hostility—just a faint sense that your presence triggers something unspoken. Something unresolved.

I came to realise that for some family members, I had become a symbol of the past—an uncomfortable reminder of a conflict they never fully addressed. As if, by virtue of being connected to one parent or the other, I had somehow taken sides in a battle I didn’t choose. The irony is that, as a teenager, I was just trying to stay afloat. I had no stake in the politics of it all. I just wanted stability.

What hurts most is not the divorce itself, but the ongoing consequences—the way extended family can turn away, hold grudges by proxy, or retreat into silence. The sense of being cast out not for anything you did, but simply because you existed at the fault line of someone else’s fracture.

Divorce is, of course, complex. Adults have their own grief, and families carry histories that are often too tangled to easily resolve. But those histories shouldn’t be inherited by the children of divorce. Especially not years later, when those children are adults themselves, still hoping to build relationships that weren’t theirs to break.

What’s needed is a deeper awareness of how far the emotional fallout can travel—and for families to reflect on the quiet exclusions they may have justified over time. If someone reaches out after years of silence, it’s not to reopen wounds. It’s to reconnect. And it might just be time to let them.

How to Plan a Holiday (And Lose Your Mind Gracefully)

How to Plan a Holiday (And Lose Your Mind Gracefully)

Ah, the holiday. That sacred ritual where you escape your daily existence, throw some clothes in a suitcase, and willingly pay hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars to sleep in a bed that's not quite as comfy as yours, eat slightly undercooked chicken in a foreign language, and pretend you're "relaxing" while Google Maps leads you directly into a lake.

Planning a holiday sounds simple in theory: pick a place, book a flight, pack a bag, and go. But if you've ever actually attempted this feat, you know it's less "Eat Pray Love" and more "Cry Stress Forget Passport." So, here's a completely unreliable but brutally honest guide to planning a holiday—with enough humour to keep you from canceling the whole trip and just building a fort under your desk instead.

---

Step 1: The Destination Dilemma

The first step in planning a holiday is choosing where to go, which is a lot like picking a Netflix movie: everyone has opinions, nobody agrees, and two hours later you're still scrolling and haven’t even packed a toothbrush.

You want somewhere warm. Your partner wants somewhere “culturally enriching,” which we all know is code for “has museums with no air-conditioning.” The kids want a pool and Wi-Fi so strong it can stream Minecraft videos from space.

Eventually, you compromise and settle on Italy. Or maybe Bali. Wait—didn’t Bali have those monkeys that steal sunglasses? Oh no. Back to square one.

After four hours and several arguments involving the phrase “this is why we never go anywhere,” you choose Portugalbecause it has beaches, history, AND pastries. Pastries are the universal language of peace.

---

Step 2: Booking Flights and Accepting Financial Ruin

Now comes booking the flights. This is when you discover that airline pricing is a game of Russian Roulette played by a caffeine-fueled algorithm. The same flight is £150 at 3 a.m., £600 at noon, and vanishes completely if you dare open a second tab.

You try to outsmart the system by using "incognito mode," clearing your cookies, and booking with a VPN from the middle of the Pacific Ocean. None of it works. You end up paying $489 per person for a flight with three layovers, one of which involves a three-hour donkey ride across the Albanian Alps.

But hey, you’re going on holiday!

---

Step 3: Accommodation Agony

Booking accommodation is deceptively easy until you realize every hotel with decent reviews is either fully booked or priced like you're buying a small island.

So you try Airbnb. You find a charming apartment with “authentic character,” which turns out to mean “one lightbulb and a shower that electrocutes you if you breathe wrong.”

You briefly consider camping. Then remember you're a human being and not a mosquito buffet.

Eventually, you find a “family-friendly boutique guesthouse,” which is either a lovely retreat or a scam operated by a goat named Marco. Only time will tell.

---

Step 4: Packing – AKA The Ultimate Mind Game

Packing should be straightforward. It is not.

You start with a sensible list: underwear, toothbrush, sunscreen. Then your brain spirals. What if it rains? You need a raincoat. What if there’s a sudden opera? Better pack formalwear. What if you’re invited on a spontaneous kayaking adventure followed by a black-tie dinner in the forest?

You now have 37 outfits, 4 pairs of shoes, and a snorkel.

Meanwhile, your partner packs one bag with rolled-up shirts and smugness, and your child packs a single plush unicorn and a broken phone charger.

You’ve also forgotten socks. Again.

---

Step 5: The Airport Experience

Ah, the airport: where time stops, logic dies, and you pay $11 for a bottle of water you’re not even sure you’re allowed to bring on the plane.

Security is where your suitcase gets flagged for “a suspicious banana-shaped object,” and you get intimately patted down while trying to explain your toothpaste tube is regulation size.

You finally board your flight and realize you’re seated between a man eating boiled eggs from a Ziploc bag and a toddler named Hugo who is very passionate about kicking your seat.

Welcome to relaxation.

---

Step 6: Arriving... Sort Of

You land, bleary-eyed and 14% human, and immediately get lost. The taxi driver speaks no English but offers you a mysterious bottle of green liquid. You accept, because hydration is important and you’re too tired to resist peer pressure.

Your hotel, miraculously, exists. The bed is two twin mattresses pretending to be one. The view is “partial sea,” which means if you lean out the window and use a periscope, you can just see a splash.

But you're here. You made it. Now what?

---

Step 7: The Activities (AKA We Will Have Fun, Dammit)

You try to relax. But then someone says, “Let’s not waste the day!” and next thing you know, you’re on a 7 a.m. guided walking tour with a man named Fabio who keeps using the phrase “now we climb.”

You learn more about 14th-century pottery than you ever wanted, while sweating through your passport and wondering if it’s socially acceptable to lie down in a fountain.

Eventually, you abandon culture and go full tourist: cocktails at noon, fried food, and enough souvenirs to open a small shop. You spend €18 on a handmade magnet shaped like a fish and declare it “worth every cent.”

---

Step 8: The Inevitable Meltdown

No holiday is complete without at least one dramatic meltdown. Maybe it’s over a delayed bus, maybe a sunburn the shape of a fanny pack, maybe someone left the hotel key in a cafe two hours away.

There’s yelling. There’s pouting. There’s a moment where someone threatens to live at the airport out of spite.

This is normal.

Have an ice cream and forgive each other.

---

Step 9: The Return Journey and Existential Crisis

The trip home is always a blur. You’re jet-lagged, broke, slightly bloated, and carrying sand in mysterious places.

You swear you need “a holiday to recover from your holiday.”

And as you collapse on your own bed, one thought runs through your head:

“Next time, let’s just go camping.”

(You won’t.)

---

Final Word of Advice

Planning a holiday isn’t about perfection. It’s about the laughs, the stories, the weird cheeses, and the fact you survived four airports, two sunburns, and at least one argument about how maps work.

So go forth. Book the flight. Pack the snorkel. Just… maybe leave the opera tux at home.

And don’t forget the socks this time.

---

Let me know if you'd like a version with specific destinations or characters added!

You said:

add France as a destination in the blog post

ChatGPT said:

Absolutely! Here's the revised version of the blog post with France hilariously woven into the narrative as the chosen destination. The rest of the humor and chaos remains gloriously intact.

---

How to Plan a Holiday (And Lose Your Mind Gracefully)
Featuring croissants, Eiffel Towers, and possibly screaming in French.

Ah, the holiday. That sacred ritual where you escape your daily existence, throw some clothes in a suitcase, and willingly pay hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars to sleep in a bed that's not quite as comfy as yours, eat slightly undercooked chicken in a foreign language, and pretend you're "relaxing" while Google Maps leads you directly into a lake.

Planning a holiday sounds simple in theory: pick a place, book a flight, pack a bag, and go. But if you've ever actually attempted this feat, you know it's less "Eat Pray Love" and more "Cry Stress Forget Passport." So, here's a completely unreliable but brutally honest guide to planning a holiday—with enough humour to keep you from canceling the whole trip and just building a fort under your desk instead.

---

Step 1: The Destination Dilemma – “Let’s Go to France!”

The first step in planning a holiday is choosing where to go, which is a lot like picking a Netflix movie: everyone has opinions, nobody agrees, and two hours later you're still scrolling and haven’t even packed a toothbrush.

You want somewhere warm. Your partner wants somewhere “culturally enriching,” which we all know is code for “has museums with no air-conditioning.” The kids want a pool and Wi-Fi so strong it can stream Minecraft videos from space.

Eventually, someone dramatically slaps a travel magazine down on the table and yells: “FRANCE!”

And it begins to make sense. France has it all: romance, art, lavender fields, croissants the size of small mammals, and people who pretend they don’t understand you even when they do. You dream of sipping wine under the Eiffel Tower, strolling along the Seine, and maybe reenacting scenes from Emily in Paris, minus the budget and attractive wardrobe.

Done. France it is.

---

Step 2: Booking Flights and Accepting Financial Ruin

Now comes booking the flights. This is when you discover that airline pricing is a game of Russian Roulette played by a caffeine-fueled algorithm. The same flight is $150 at 3 a.m., $600 at noon, and vanishes completely if you dare open a second tab.

You try to outsmart the system by using "incognito mode," clearing your cookies, and booking with a VPN from the middle of the Pacific Ocean. None of it works. You end up paying $489 per person for a flight with three layovers, one of which involves a three-hour donkey ride across the Albanian Alps.

But hey, you’re going to France!

---

Step 3: Accommodation Agony – A Room With a View of the Bin

You now face the second boss battle: where to stay.

You start optimistically looking at quaint Parisian apartments. “Charming studio near the Champs-Élysées,” one says. Translation: 12 square feet of tile, one angry pigeon on the windowsill, and a shower that’s also the kitchen.

Hotel websites brag about their amenities like “a complimentary miniature soap,” “continental breakfast (featuring stale bread and a single orange),” and the ever-enticing “partial view of the Eiffel Tower,” which means if you hang out the window with a monocular, you can spot the tip behind an air-conditioning unit.

You settle for a guesthouse in Provence that promises “rustic elegance” and pray that it doesn’t involve livestock inside the bedroom.

---

Step 4: Packing – AKA The Ultimate Mind Game

Packing should be straightforward. It is not.

You start with a sensible list: underwear, toothbrush, sunscreen. Then your brain spirals. What if it rains in Paris? What if there's a sudden invitation to a French opera? What if you’re mistaken for a celebrity and asked to walk a red carpet at Cannes?

Now you’ve packed a trench coat, three scarves, heels you’ve never worn, and a bottle of shampoo that weighs more than a baguette.

Meanwhile, your partner packs one elegant bag with rolled shirts and smugness. Your child packs a plush unicorn, a Game Boy from 2002, and some crumbs.

You also forgot socks. Again. In France. Sacré bleu.

---

Step 5: The Airport Experience – Now Boarding: Despair

Ah, the airport: where time stops, logic dies, and you pay $11 for a bottle of water you’re not even sure you’re allowed to bring on the plane.

Security is where your suitcase gets flagged for “a suspicious tube of foot cream,” and you get intimately patted down while trying to explain your toothpaste is regulation size and definitely not explosive.

You finally board your flight and realize you’re seated between a man who brought a tuna sandwich from home and a toddler named Hugo who kicks your seat in Morse code.

Bienvenue à la détente.

---

Step 6: Arriving in France – The Dream Meets Reality

You land in France, disoriented but proud. You step out of the airport breathing in the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread... and possibly diesel fumes.

The taxi driver speaks only French. You attempt to say your hotel’s address and accidentally order four croissants and insult his cousin. He forgives you with a shrug and drives 140 km/h down the motorway while listening to Edith Piaf and yelling at cyclists.

You arrive at your hotel, which does exist, and is exactly as described online—if you squint and lower your standards.

But you’re in France. You’re HERE. The Eiffel Tower sparkles, the pastries melt in your mouth, and the pigeons are fashionable.

---

Step 7: The Activities – “Oui, We Must See Everything”

You try to relax. But someone says, “Let’s not waste the day!” and next thing you know, you’re on a sunrise tour of Versailles with a guide named Gérard who calls Marie Antoinette his “spiritual soulmate.”

You get lost in the Louvre, weep at the beauty of Monet’s water lilies, and climb 674 steps of Notre-Dame thinking “This better be worth the cardio.”

You attempt to order lunch in French, mix up the words for “chicken” and “sock,” and end up with a baguette and a confused waiter. You still tip 20%.

Later, you abandon all plans, sit at a café, order wine and cheese, and finally understand why the French just... linger.

---

Step 8: The Inevitable Meltdown – “I Don’t Care About Castles Anymore!”

It’s bound to happen. Maybe it's a wrong train. Maybe it’s the 42nd crepe you can’t afford. Maybe it’s someone loudly arguing that they “didn’t come all the way to Europe to look at ANOTHER CHURCH.”

There's yelling, foot-stomping, and dramatic sighing. Possibly by you. Maybe even in French.

It’s okay. Have an éclair. Forgive everyone.

---

Step 9: The Return Journey and Existential Crisis

The trip home is a blur. You’re jet-lagged, broke, and carrying enough cheese to alarm a sniffer dog.

You reflect on the magic of France: the art, the food, the elegant disdain, the nap you took under a sycamore tree in a vineyard while mildly drunk on rosé.

As you collapse on your own bed, one thought runs through your head:

“Next time, we’ll do Italy.”

---

Final Word of Advice

Planning a holiday isn’t about perfection. It’s about the laughs, the language fumbles, the four-hour lunch breaks, and the fact you survived French plumbing and multiple baguette-related incidents.

So go forth. Book the flight. Pack the trench coat. Try to pronounce "Roussillon."

And don’t forget the socks this time.

🧊💥10 Films to Watch in a Heatwave (Before You Explode Like a Bag of Hot Mice) – NinjaKiller Cat Blog

Greetings, heat-stricken bipeds and fellow fur-covered beings.

It's me. NinjaKiller. Your local indoor shadow. Slayer of houseplants. Scourge of 4am shoelaces. And currently? A melting pile of feline fury because it's approximately 4,000 degrees outside and Sharon refuses to turn the AC below “mild discomfort.” WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS, SHARON?

Anyway.

If you’re stuck in a skin prison during this fireball masquerading as July, here’s a list of 10 chill-fueled films that might convince your brain you’re not actually roasting on Satan’s barbecue.

So pour yourself some iced tuna water (or… iced coffee, I guess) and let’s get cold. ❄️

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1. The Thing (1982)

Location: Antarctica aka the opposite of Hell

Men in parkas, blizzards, paranoia, and a shape-shifting horror creature? Yes. YES. This film is colder than your ex’s apology text. The visuals alone will make your fur stand on end. And when the storm rolls in, you’ll feel that chill deep in your whiskers.
Bonus: You’ll be too terrified to notice how sweaty you are.

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2. Fargo (1996)

Location: Snow. Just… snow.

Oh, ya betcha! This movie's so frozen even my tail tucked itself in for warmth. You’ve got chipper cops, bumbling crooks, and a wood chipper that probably runs better than your AC unit. The snow never stops. The accents? Cooler than a glacier in sunglasses.
Pro tip: Pretend you're in the passenger seat during those icy road scenes. Shivers.

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3. March of the Penguins (2005)

Location: Penguin Boot Camp in Antarctica

Morgan Freeman narrates while fluffy tuxedo birds waddle across endless sheets of ice. I mean, come on. This film is pure cold serenity. It’s like watching snow ASMR with heart.
Side effect: You may want to become a penguin. I already tried. Got stuck in the fridge.

---

4. The Revenant (2015)

Location: Freezer section of the American frontier

Leo DiCaprio gets slapped around by a bear, sleeps inside a horse, and crawls through the most snow I’ve seen outside a Yeti’s vacation slideshow. This film is raw, rugged, and frigid AF.
Warning: Might make you want to go outside. Don’t. You’ll combust.

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5. Frozen (2013)

Location: Ice castle realness, population: 1 emotionally repressed queen

Look, you’ve heard the song. You’ve had the glittery merchandise thrown at your head. But Frozen is genuinely one of the iciest movies out there. Snow. Magic. More snow. An actual blizzard of feelings. And Olaf, the sentient slushie.
Let it go? Nah, let the AC blast while Elsa cools your soul.

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6. Everest (2015)

Location: Mount OH NOPE

Humans climb a death mountain. Spoiler: it’s cold. Really cold. I got chills watching this, and not just because I spilled ice cubes in my fur. The wind alone in this movie sounds like it wants to murder you.
Human lesson: Stay on the couch. Nature hates you.

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7. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005)

Location: Closet → Snow dimension

A land cursed with eternal winter? Yes, PLEASE. Bring me the talking lion and frosty forests. I’d like to live in that wardrobe full-time, thanks. Snowball fights, icy rivers, and a White Witch who is basically Winter in a fur coat.
Bonus points: Mr. Tumnus has strong cozy-vibes. I respect that.

---

8. Snowpiercer (2013)

Location: Giant ice train. That’s it. That’s the plot.

Earth is frozen, the last of humanity lives on a speeding train, and it’s all a metaphor for class struggle and climate doom. But the OUTSIDE? Literal freeze-pocalypse. It’s cold, it’s bleak, and it’ll make your sweaty apartment feel like a luxury igloo.
Cool factor: Chris Evans with a frostbitten beard.

---

9. Happy Feet (2006)

Location: Antarctic dance floor

If you liked the penguins but wanted more jazz hands, THIS is your film. Tap-dancing flippers, snowy cliffs, and ocean breezes so crisp you’ll want to lick the screen (don’t). The only fire here is in Mumble’s moves.
Vibe check: Joyful hypothermia.

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10. Doctor Zhivago (1965)

Location: Sad Russia, but beautiful

This one's a classic. Long, snowy, tragic. Ice-covered windows, snow-capped love triangles, and more cold trains than a Siberian subway. It’s a slow burn… but the scenery is ICE.
Use case: Watch when you want to feel emotional and frostbitten.

---

Bonus Round: How to Maximize Your Movie Chill 🍦

• Sit in front of a fan. Pretend it’s Arctic wind.

• Eat frozen peas straight from the bag like a beast.

• Drape yourself in a damp towel. Like a sad seal.

• Whisper "I'm in Narnia" every 5 minutes. It helps.

---

Final Meow 🐾

Look, it’s hotter than dragon breath out there, and you deserve a break—from sweat, from sun, and from Sharon’s refusal to buy blackout curtains. These movies? They’re cinematic snowballs. Mind-ice. Frozen emotional popsicles.

So turn down the lights, crank that fan until it sounds like a spaceship, and let these flicks drop your internal temp by at least 2°C. Or at least enough to stop sticking to your own furniture.

Stay frosty, weirdos.

— NinjaKiller out. 🐾💀❄️

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When Did you Read That Last Bedtime Story ?

When did you last read that last bedtime story ?

When you read that bedtime story to your child ?was it the last one ever? , when did the last bedtime story become the forever thing in the past ? I can't remember the last bedtime story so there is a twang of sadness in my life . I have just read Tattooed Mummy's Randoms on her daughter nearly turning 16 , out children at a similar age though my son is already 16. And you see 16 is that cusp of remembering what you were doing at 16 ....  16 seems now to be that twilight time. I don't have a party popping 16 year old , I have a just got first job sensible 16 year old , putting them selves forward in a job that puts them out of their comfort zone.

SO why do I feel so bereft I was the one that plonked them at Beavers when they were sobbing with their arms clung round my legs with my husband saying he wasn't ready, I was the one who signed them up to try ballet ( despite husband mutterings ) I was the one who signed them up for horse riding lessons. I was the one that booked Cairo and trekked my child in the Egyptian desert , I was the one that booked Dubai and let my child go down the worlds highest water slide. It wasn't pushy parent syndrome.


And when asked "Is this a GCSE text " I nonchalantly said " OOOH no" and handed over a big pile of books while running away. I was the one that said

"WE don't have that as a screen saver"


I am strict and yet I am fair Game of Thrones hasn't been watched by the teen here but he knows what has gone off through discussion on youtube ( his youtube is restricted ) I am the one that checks the occasional attitude ( do some husbands have a filter  ? probably laughs like Eddie Murphy)


There was utter panic when I couldn't contact him in the next rural village , it is a mum thing , husbands I think are more chilled out ... SO 5 phone calls later and furious typing on my husbands mobile , we actually went a fetched him from the village mobile blackout spot . I don't think it is the most helpful reply from a certain mobile phone company that suggests if my teen moves 4,000 metres outside the village they will get a better signal. Not the best in a rural location in the dark ....

But I need to see them as an adult in the house and not a Gremlin ... mmmm maybe not yet

As I type this they are still asleep yesterday they worked hard in a pub serving food....

"What will you do with your money ?"

Big shrug of shoulders ...


So when did I read the last bedtime story OOOOH when did I ?