Be gone, sickness bug

Twin 1

I’m home from school. I just want to play by myself. This isn’t like me…..I don’t usually want to play by myself. Why am I so quiet?

I feel sick. That’s what’s wrong. I feel sick.

Mummy! I don’t feel very well. My tummy feels sick.

I need a cuddle. And look how sad my face is. No, I don’t want anything for tea……or maybe just a plain breadstick.

Oh no. Oh no. I’m going to be sick.


He’s going to be sick.

Twin 1

Poor me. I need another cuddle.

Twin 2

What’s that? He’s sick? And he’s just having a breadstick for tea?

What is for tea, mummy? Pasta and cheese sauce? But I’m POORLY, mummy! I AM POORLY! I just want a BREADSTICK, mummy! Only a BREADSTICK! I’m poorly and also I don’t LIKE the pasta!


Oh no, please not sick.

Oh yes, sick.

But I have to be at work tomorrow. And I can’t catch this either. I really can’t. I can’t be ill.

And dinner’s ready. Is anyone going to want dinner?

No no you’re not sick, sweetheart. That’s your brother. You were poorly yesterday, remember? You’re feeling better today. No, you’re not just having a breadstick for your tea. You can have a breadstick with your tea. Now sit down please. Is anyone else coming?

Eldest boy

“Yes yes, I’m here! What is it? Ooh yes, yum. Pasta and cheese sauce, I love that…… What??? Sick??? Oh no. Oh no. I can’t stay at the table. I can’t be near him. I might catch it. What if I CATCH IT?! The last time I was sick, daddy caught it from me and then I caught it back from him and then daddy caught it back from me. I’m not going near him. I need to stay at least 15cm away from him at all times. At least 15cm


He’s going to miss his superhero day at school tomorrow. How am I going to tell him this? He’s going to miss his superhero day, and I also really really need to go to work.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but you won’t be able to go to school tomorrow for Superhero Day. I know that’s going to be really disappointing.

Twin 1 

I’m so sad, all I can do is wobble my bottom lip and bury my head into mummy.


This is rather lovely when he just wants to bury his head into me and have cuddles. It’s just a shame he’s sick.

Twin 2

Oh yes…..Superhero Day. Superhero Day tomorrow. I definitely don’t want to miss Superhero Day. So maybe I’m not poorly after all. But then I would quite like just breadsticks for my tea. This is impossible.

And look, now he’s sitting on mummy’s lap. This isn’t fair at all. I need mummy’s lap. I need to sit there right now. I’m just going to start clambering on top of him because I’m not well either. Although I will definitely be going to Superhero Day.


There is a sick boy sitting on my lap. It’s a lovely cuddle but am I going to catch this? Are we all going to catch this? In fact, am I already feeling ill? I think I might be. Or is it just because I’m thinking about sick children? Is he going to be up in the night? Please say he’s not going to be up in the night. I know that’s selfish but can I do that, really? Being up in the night clearing up sick……I don’t know if I can. And I’ve got this work event on tomorrow too. It’s not his fault I know. It’s nobody’s fault. Shall I have a glass of wine? Will that take my mind off feeling sick? And what about Friday? I’m actually going out on Friday to one of my favourite ever places. I’ve got tickets. I’ve been looking forward to it for months. Please please please please, I CAN’T CATCH IT. Really just can’t…..or not in the next few days anyway. And preferably not next week either as that’s half term. Can willpower alone stop me from catching it?

Twin 1

It was my brother who made me feel sick, mummy. He did it at school.

Twin 2

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease let me have just a breadstick for tea.


Well if no-one else is going to eat it I might as well have that pasta. Then I’m getting ready for football.


Oh let’s just pour the wine and hope for the best.

Get well soon, little one x


And let’s hope these little ones don’t catch it either.


Three cheers for grandparents

I got home from work this afternoon to find one of my children calmly making a Chinese dragon with his granny.

I’m just going to write that down again – I found one of my children making a Chinese dragon.

Another was happily pottering around with his Lego, and the biggest one was engrossed in his book.

The scene was calm. Peaceful. It actually looked like somebody else’s house.

After tea we all danced with the Chinese dragon. No-one pushed, shoved or fought over who should stand where. It was a properly happy moment.

This is very much not a normal turn of events after school…….Firstly, I wouldn’t know where to start with making a Chinese dragon; and secondly, if my children were doing after-school crafts on my watch, they would be falling off their chairs, hurling things across the table, and/or sobbing because we’d used the wrong cereal box.  Since going back to school a few weeks ago, the after school period in our house has been teary, fraught with emotion, unproductive, and anything but calm. Over-tired children have been more than ready to take out all their rage on me; or alternatively, on each other. On several occasions, I have wondered how much longer I can continue to do this, before quickly realising that there is absolutely no point in me wondering such a thing. I live here, and these are my children.

So what was this beautiful, serene scene before me? Who was this child, calmly asking me if I had any straws for him to stick on his dragon without even a trace of ‘I-really-need-a-selection-of-straws-now-otherwise-it-will-be-the-worst-thing-that-has-ever-happened-to-me’ in his voice? When would the normal after school behaviour start?

The difference this evening of course, was that ‘Grammie’ – my mum-in-law – was here. Back from her holidays. It was the Grammie/Grandma/Grandparent Effect. Not only were Chinese dragons being made, but there had also been handwriting practice. The handwriting practice that had been greeted with ‘Not NOOOOOOOOOOOOW, I don’t WAAAAAAANNNNNNTTTTT to‘ whenever I had suggested they might like to consider it. Chinese dragons, handwriting practice, AND reading books. It was, I am pretty sure, one of the most productive after schools we have ever had. Usually, the main thing we achieve is widespread discontent over whatever I have cooked for tea.

The Grandparent Effect is well-known in our house. My children are more likely to behave, listen and do things without fuss; and far less likely to fling themselves on the floor when the simplest thing is asked of them, when a grandparent is present. Grandparents bring with them a calmness, infinite amounts of patience, jokes, songs, time, and less of a pressing need to get things done. Which means they actually end up getting more done than I ever do. When my own mum is here, she manages to play games with the children, make a meal, do the reading books, wash up, do all the ironing, fold the clean clothes; and, quite often, knit a jumper too. I come home to a calm, orderly, tidy house full of happy children; and am always amazed that apparently this is possible. I find it difficult to believe that I will be that sort of grandparent. I can’t knit for a start…..or make Chinese dragons.

But for now, I couldn’t be more grateful for the grandparents my children are lucky enough to have. For the momentary calm they bring to our house. For the joy they bring their grandchildren just by being there (because when you’re 7 and 5, there are very few things that are more exciting than seeing your grandparents). For making bringing up children easier and more enjoyable for us.

And for being less snappy, less rushed, and so much more patient than me.

Three cheers for grandparents – they are amazing.



When Big Ben chimes again

Hello 2021. This is summer 2017.

I wanted to write a little note because, according to the news this week, 2021 is when we will next hear Big Ben chime out across London…..apart from very special occasions, that is. And whilst the silencing of Big Ben really isn’t that big a deal in the grand scheme of things, things like this do make me stop and think about time. So as we listened to the (mainly Big Ben related) news a few days ago, and confused little boys struggled to understand why Big Ben was chiming constantly on the radio when it wasn’t supposed to be chiming any more; I kept thinking about what life will look like 4 years from now. In 2021.

In 2021, I will have an 11 year old and two 9 year olds. I find this almost impossible to imagine.

In 2021 we will, apparently, be out of the EU. I find this almost impossible to imagine too.

And in 2021 I will be 41 going on 42…….and probably still talking about what I’d like to be when I’m a proper grown up.

I suspect our lives will be very different the next time we hear Big Ben ring out, so I wanted to try and capture a bit of us now; in the summer of 2017.

We are in what I’m sure I will look back on as a rather blissful, innocent stage free from the pressures that things like mobile phones and gaming can bring. Our house is full of Lego, fancy dress, books, games, cars, trains and dinosaurs; all of which still keep you boys happily occupied. Something tells me this won’t be the case in 2021, and just the thought of navigating the pre-teen landscape makes me anxious.

You are also still, thankfully, at an age at which you enjoy being with your parents …..most of the time at least. And when spending time with your parents isn’t quite exciting enough, thankfully spending time with your grandparents is just about the best thing imaginable.

Summer 2017 has flown by. We holidayed in beautiful Pembrokeshire, you boys spent a happy week on a performing arts summer school; we have wandered through woods, sat in traffic jams, splashed in splash parks, fed our neighbours’ cats, picnicked in the rain, celebrated birthdays, had some tennis lessons, and generally loved the feeling of freedom that comes with the summer holidays. We have squabbled too….. Squabbled over who gets to open the first packet of cat food, who called who poo, whose turn it is to get the breakfast ready, who gets to sit next to mummy at lunch time, whose turn it is to wear the Iron Man socks and who gets to choose the music in the car. I have frequently wanted to hide away in a dark, quiet corner; made what feels like 20,000 packed lunches, and almost lost the will to live over the twice-a-day battle of getting Twin 2 to brush his teeth rather than simply stand on his head with a toothbrush in his mouth.

The laundry has been never ending. That is one thing that I am pretty sure won’t have changed by 2021. And getting you all out of the house still gives me far more grey hairs than I feel it should. I’m hoping that might change.

But I have also tried to remind myself that you boys won’t want to spend your summer holidays pottering about with me forever. And that these times are hard, yes, but also special.

The time has flown, and yet school feels like a whole world away. We all need to get back into routine, although I’m not sure any of us is ready to quite yet. But we are taking small strides, and this week has largely been about doing little things to prepare for the new term. You, Eldest Boy, are starting Juniors in September, which means new uniform and new equipment for your pencil case. You have been diligently doing your ‘button practice’ every day, in readiness for wearing a shirt rather than polo shirt. The other day you tried on your new uniform, including tie, and suddenly looked about 17. We went stationery shopping too this week, and you then spent much of the rest of the afternoon staring happily at your new pens. You are so proud.

In four years time you will be about to start senior school, so perhaps 2021 will see us doing exactly the same thing. Only time will tell if your enthusiasm, and pride in your pencil case, will remain. I desperately hope so.

You are 118cm tall and have lost four teeth so far. We have just bought new school shoes – size 11.5. Having resolutely stayed the same size for at least 18 months, your feet are finally having a growth spurt. For your birthday we bought you a CD player – you love the independence this gives you and have no idea that actually, no-one really has a CD player anymore. You are beautifully indiscriminate in your music choices and are enjoying going through mummy and daddy’s old CD collection – right now, there is nothing remotely embarrassing about this. David Gray is a current favourite – you are possibly the only 7 year old out there listening to This Year’s Love as you sort through your Match Attax cards.

You are on a mission to get your little brothers to try mushy peas. I am on a mission just to get them to eat peas. Or, in fact, anything green.

Twins 1 and 2, you are 112cm and 114cm tall respectively, with size 10.5 and size 11 feet. You haven’t lost any teeth yet. At the moment, life is all about superheroes, Star Wars, fire engines, your new walkie-talkies and singing ‘I like to move it move it‘. You have moved up to two-wheeled scooters with no problems, but have not quite mastered your new roller boots….. yet. You have loved feeding our neighbours’ cats over the last few weeks and will miss your little summer job hugely now it has come to an end. If it wasn’t for the fact that you have two allergic parents, I would consider getting a cat.

But you do have two allergic parents, so I’m really not.

You are valiantly ploughing through your birthday thank you cards, and it has been an almighty struggle. But you are doing them, and when I think about how far you have come in a year, I am ridiculously proud of your just-about-legible scrawls.

And finally, finally; this summer you got your bunk beds – you have been asking for bunk beds for at least two years now. This week I made the mistake of taking you along to the shop to choose some new bedding and we came home with the most garish Avengers duvet covers imaginable. I really should have known better.

The delay in getting your bunk beds is characteristic of mummy & daddy’s rather sloppy approach to getting anything done in the house. We have needed new blinds for the last 7 years at least, and this summer we finally got round to measuring up and even looking at fabric…..but no further than that. It is entirely possible that we still won’t have our new blinds when Big Ben chimes again. In fact, I am pretty confident that our house will exist in the same state of chaos as it does currently.

But aside from a cluttered house, shabby blinds, and never-ending laundry; I have no idea what our lives will look like in 2021. What you boys might be reading, watching, or listening to. Whether you’ll have realised that CD players are no longer the thing to have. And whether or not you little ones will finally have been convinced to try mushy peas.

But this has been us in summer 2017; and we’ll just have to see where life takes us between now and that very famous bell chiming again.





Mary, about those fishcakes…..

Now Mary, before I start…..let me just say that I do really like you. Everyone does, don’t they? I like your floral jackets, your pink nails, the way you stand (or stood, I should say) with your hands in your back pockets during Bake Off; the cheeky glint in your eye when you talk about enjoying a glass of wine in the evenings.

I love that you admit that life is too short to make your own puff-pastry.

I put up with the fact that the producers of your latest series, Mary Berry Everyday, milked the vintage/floral/cutesy/twee clichés for all they were worth; because….well because I like watching you. I like your sensible advice, and your food always looks delicious.

But Mary, it was the fishcakes that made me switch off when I was catching up on Episode 4 last week. Don’t get me wrong, Mary – they looked amazing. They really did. They looked perfect and crispy and had that amazing sauce oozing out of the middle. Yum.

And you tucked into them, knowing how amazing they were going to be and said something like ‘mmmmm, now those really are special. Do you know, I think that really is the perfect everyday supper.

Everyday supper??


The thing is, Mary, I find fishcakes a bit fiddly at the best of times. Even just regular fishcakes, let alone your extra special fishcakes. But here you are, popping your beautiful piece of smoked haddock in the oven, making your white sauce, merrily flaking the fish and mixing it with your already-cooked mashed potato, dividing your mixture and forming four perfectly round balls, making a little hole for your oh-so-indulgent filling, spooning in your sauce, folding over the tops of your fishcakes, dipping each fishcake into egg and flour and panko breadcrumbs (this bit, which is awkward and fiddly and always leaves my kitchen covered in egg-y, floury breadcrumbs; just looks so EASY and NEAT and TIDY when you do it Mary), then frying them until they’re beautifully golden (oh, but if you have time, you should also CHILL them for 30 minutes before you fry them so that they don’t fall apart…’ve already spent 5 hours on these fishcakes so what’s another 30 minutes?!), and THEN…..FINALLY putting them in the oven.

And after all that – the shaping, and the spooning in of the sauce, and the dipping and the frying and the baking; all you’ve got is a fishcake for your tea! I mean, they do look amazing and everything but surely you need more than a few leaves to go with your fishcakes don’t you, Mary?

All those steps, Mary – so many that I’m not even going to count them all – mean that your amazing fishcakes just aren’t going to work for me. Or for so many mums, dads, and people with normal jobs and normal lives. People who have to travel home from work and get in, tired and hungry, at 7.30 or later. People who have children to get to bed, work to catch up on; or just don’t have all day to spend preparing fishcakes.

For an everyday person, this is not an ‘everyday supper’.

Let me just explain a little bit further, Mary. My ‘everyday supper-time’ scenario usually looks like one of the following:

Scenario A:

Cooking a speedy after-school tea for the family because daddy will be home from work early, so we are all eating together at 5pm. One boy is having a meltdown because I won’t allow him to use knives unsupervised, another boy is forming a human bridge as he attempts to lie across two chairs which are currently placed some distance apart; and a third boy is astounded that I don’t automatically know who finished in the top five in the 2001 Premier League table. As I frantically try to cook and answer questions and keep my offspring away from sharp knives; I know that at least one boy will soon declare that he no longer likes a key element of the supper that is about to be served up to him.

Scenario B:

Making my way downstairs at around 7.45pm, ravenous but knowing that the last thing I want to be doing is chopping, stirring; or indeed anything that involves standing up. Worn out and beaten from at least 90 minutes spent getting my children washed and tucked up in bed. From fighting with a grubby boy who doesn’t want to get IN the bath, then fighting with the same now-slightly-cleaner boy who doesn’t want to get OUT of the bath. From playing let’s-hide-under-the-duvet-before-stories and remembering the order in which I’m supposed to do and say everything…..’go out of the room, now come back in, now lie on the bed, now say “where are those boys?”, now say “oh look, it’s a laughing duvet” ‘. Saying night night, sleep tight, see you in the morning, then saying it all again, and again; then taking a boy to the toilet once more, then giving another cuddle, another kiss; and then another one and another two because apparently this boy’s had more cuddles than that boy. Then answering questions about how long it is until morning, and what day it is, and what we’re doing tomorrow, and when we can go to Italy. And Portugal. And France. Then reading with the eldest boy, and saying perhaps it’s time to turn your light off now darling; you have done a lot of reading….. And the thing is, mummy really needs to cook the tea, sweetheart. Mummy is tired out and mummy is REALLY HUNGRY. 

And so Mary, tempting though your fishcakes look, as I stumble down the stairs at almost 8pm craving something quick and tasty and preferably cooked for me; the last thing I have in mind is coating my amazing indulgent fishcakes in panko breadcrumbs before chilling them and then frying them and then popping them in the oven.

I won’t hold it against you Mary, I still love watching you in your floral jackets. But perhaps in the next series, ‘everyday’ could actually mean ‘everyday’.

Mary Berry

Snapshot of a boy

You skipped out of school one day last week with yet another graze on your grubby little face. And as I examined your latest injury, I realised that I have never written a post just for you. I have written about you and your brothers. I have written about you and your twin. But you, my second born boy, my first born twin;  don’t have a post all of your own (neither does Twin 2 by the way).

I decided to put that right. And yes, Twin 2 – you will get one too.

Currently, Twin 1, you look very much like you’ve been in a pub brawl. You spend your days flinging yourself about with joyful abandon, until you topple over once again….. and then you put the same amount of energy into your sobs as you had put into your running, skipping and leaping just seconds previously.  Your speciality injury has always been falling flat on your face and cutting your lip, so we are used to the pub brawl look by now. And on top of the cuts, grazes and bruises, your little face is always grubby, whatever the activity.

You long for the day when you are old enough to have a skateboard – this has been your dream since the age of 2, when you came across a display of skateboards at a service station and were desperate to dismantle the display and have a go. You watch the youngsters at the skatepark with longing in your eyes. You dream of kneepads and elbow pads and flying up and down those ramps with the wind in your hair.

When you’re a proper grown up, you want to be Bert from Mary Poppins, dancing on the rooftops with all your pals. In your 4 year old mind, being a chimney sweep would enable you to have a grubby face all the time, no questions asked. It makes me happy that your actual dream in life is to be Bert…. and your joyful rendition of ‘Step in Time’ is one of the best things I have ever seen.

If your career as a chimney sweep doesn’t work out, you plan to travel the world with your big brother and be an official ‘potato tester’. When it comes to eating, you apply the following simple rule:

green and looking anything like a vegetable = bad

potatoes = good

One of your favourite games is to walk around on all fours pretending to be a dog, with your twin brother as your owner. There has always been something very puppy-like about you so this new favourite game seems apt. You need a good run-around every day, and to see you run free in open space is a joy. You are keen, eager, and your face swells with pride when you are praised. You have huge brown eyes and amazing long lashes – you know this, and attempt to use both to your advantage. You hate to miss out, or to be outdone – if your twin tells me I look ‘pretty’, you try to go one better by telling me I look ‘beautiful’.

Right now, school is about sand, water, role-play and building bricks. Soon this will change, and I worry about how you’ll cope. How ridiculous that I’m worrying about your ability to cope with school when you’re not yet 5, but I know what Year 1 is these days and I’m not sure that it is you. I don’t share these worries with you, of course I don’t. But the thought of your joy and energy being contained as you push your little brain to understand things which, right now are totally beyond you….well that makes me want to weep. Having said that, the reading and writing side of school is starting to click and your reading books are, although still painful, not quite such a battle to get through as they were a couple of months ago (when you would sound out ‘p-i-g’ and put it together to make ‘goat’)….. Although I am confident you would find your reading books less challenging if you weren’t attempting to read them while standing on your head.

Your emotions bubble close to the surface; and when you need mummy, you really do need mummy. Your world crumples and those huge eyes fill with tears. When you’re feeling tired and cuddly, you like me to wrap you in your hooded bath towel like a baby and sing. Two songs in particular – He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands, and Rock-a-bye-Baby. Yes, I am going to remind you of this when you’re 15.

When things are really really bad, for example when mummy breaks the news that we’re turning off Paw Patrol, you put your hand over your mouth as you sob – like you’ve just experienced the biggest and worst shock imaginable.

If anyone is up in the night, it is most likely to be you: you can’t find one of your special cuddlies; your duvet has ‘done something’…..which means it is not quite straight. I try to tell you that the reason your duvet is not straight is because you have just turned it back to get out of bed. As a toddler you used to get up and clamber into bed with us. You need people and have never liked being on your own. Although seemingly more outgoing than your twin, you are more confident when you have him by your side.

You love fancy dress, you love wearing your bow-tie and you take a hankie to school every day. You say ‘wewy’ for ‘very’, ‘incept’ for ‘except’; and ‘ownly’ for ‘lonely’.

This is a little snapshot of you, my grubby-faced boy, at 4 years and 7 months – an energetic, joyful, sensitive, loyal, sometimes shy, sometimes outgoing bundle of fun who dreams of dancing on rooftops ….preferably with a skateboard.

wannabe skateboarder

Happiness = a National Trust card

Earlier in the week, this arrived through our door. Which was a happy coincidence really, ntbecause my next post was always going to be about the joys of National Trust membership. And no, this is not a sponsored post, nor do I work for the National Trust’s marketing team (although that does sound like a nice job); but as we were enjoying a spontaneous, albeit slightly drizzly, Sunday stroll around the grounds of Hughenden Manor earlier this month, I decided that the brilliance of the National Trust really deserved a post of its own.

Our spontaneous trip to Hughenden happened on a wet and gloomy Sunday – we were all suffering from a bit of cabin fever following the festive season and desperately needed to blow off the cobwebs. I knew straight away that this was the best thing we could have done. I watched as my boys raced around the gardens and delighted in finding a dog made out of wellies, a bug hotel and a man made out of ceramic pots all within a few metres of each other. When we announced it was time to go home, they immediately asked when we would be coming back. And that, really, is our experience at every National Trust we go to – it is one of the few things we do as a family that I feel reasonably confident will result in a good day.

We were much later to the National Trust party than we should have been. For years we would rock up at the gates – ‘would you like to join?‘, asked the lovely gatekeepers. ‘Well, we do keep thinking about it‘, we would say, ‘but maybe next time’. I don’t know why we kept putting it off – I think us Brits just tend to find it easier to say maybe next time.

But one day I decided I’d had enough of ‘maybe next time‘, plus on that particular day the queue for non-members would have taken longer to get through than filling in the forms and joining; so we finally said yes. And now…..well, who wouldn’t agree that for a family with young children, National Trust membership is surely up there as one of the best things you could possibly have? Because it isn’t just access to one attraction – it gives you amazing day out options right across the country. We use ours at home and we use it on holiday. We use it as a convenient place to meet up with friends or family; or as a vastly more appealing option than a service station to break up a long car journey home. And because it isn’t just aimed at the children, everyone goes home feeling like it’s been a good day; rather than parents simply grinning and bearing it for the sake of the kids.

When it comes to days out with children it turns out that what I’ve long suspected is actually true……or it is for us anyway – more stuff often equals more stress. If you’ve paid a hefty entrance fee to get in somewhere that has a myriad of attractions, then you want to get your money’s worth; but getting your money’s worth with small children in tow isn’t always easy. They have little legs, they need plenty of toilet and refreshment stops, and they are easily over-stimulated. And, as we know, days out with youngsters are necessarily short. But a National Trust outing doesn’t need to involve racing round a host of attractions – that’s not to say that there aren’t things to do, but you can take it all at a more relaxed pace. It is a reminder of the simple things that children love – hide and seek around the hedgerows, scrambling up an old tree, running down hills, collecting up sticks for a pretend fire, getting lost in a maze, crossing bridges, spotting bugs; and the simple joy of being outside.  It can be a whole day or a couple of hours; which when you have little ones, is just the way you need it to be. It reminds you of the joy to be found in all the seasons – giant puddles, frosty lawns, spring blossom and autumn leaves. It gives you options for those days over the weekend or school holidays when you have no plans but you fancy a little adventure. For children, it is space to run and freedom to explore. It is something which, once you have, you will wonder why you took so long to get.

Basically, it is for those who enjoy open space, but with coffee, cake and toilets within easy reach. And what’s not to love about that?


If you’re not yet a member but have been persuaded, here is the link you need!

Warm socks and cosy jumpers….or why I’m actually quite liking January

Last Saturday evening I was at a Laser Quest party…..because I have a 6 year old so that is now where I spend my weekend evenings. Anyway there I was in my cosy jumper, jeans and super-comfy boots that I have lived in all winter; chatting to my friend who was all wrapped up in her lovely big shawl. And we were talking about being comfy and cosy, and about the fact that actually, we were really quite liking January.

I know. I am surprised too; but this year I do.

I like the feeling of calm compared to the frenetic pace of the last few weeks. And yes, I do love Christmas; but those levels of excitement are simply not sustainable for small children. A return to normality isn’t always bad; sometimes it is just what we all need. It is definitely what my boys needed.

I like the feeling of possibility that a new year brings: things you’d like to achieve, books you’d like to read, films you’d like to see, theatre trips you’d like to book, days out you’d like to go on.

I like reading the 2017 supplements that come with the newspaper and circling all the things I’d like to do.

I like the filling in of an empty diary – yes, a paper one. I’ve never got the hang of this diary-on-phone business. I like turning the pages and seeing the empty weeks ready to be filled.

I like being able to be spontaneous, because no-one makes plans in January.

I like frosty walks followed by a hot cup of tea. I like coming in from the cold and offering my children a cup of warm milk…..little things like this make me feel like a proper mum.

I like going out and not feeling crushed by December crowds. I like the space and the relative quiet. I like knowing that the places we’d like to go won’t be charging a premium just because it’s December.

I like being at home on a dark evening without needing to think about what I’ve missed from my Christmas to-do list.

I like that school is once again just school, with a bit of respite from the non-stop reminders about upcoming activities, outings, events and Christmas jumper days.

I like cosy jumpers, comfy boots, warm socks and long scarves. I like seeing my children all wrapped up in their big coats and woolly hats. I love their rosy cheeks and little pink noses.

I like big warming casseroles and roast dinners, sausages and cauliflower cheese, pies and gravy and red wine. I like crumble and custard and steamed puddings. This is pretty much my January diet.

I like having Christmas treats to dip into in the kitchen.

I like the Danish idea of ‘hygge’. Have a look here if you haven’t come across it.

I like that my ‘present cupboard’ is back to its normal role of wardrobe. I like that I can now open my wardrobe without gifts falling on my head.

I know that January brings with it plenty of challenges: tube strikes, dark days, awful traffic, bad train services; and attempting to drag yourself to work in the rain without an imminent bank holiday to look forward to. I know we miss the twinkly Christmas lights and the knowledge that our next mince pie is just around the corner. But this year, January has reminded me that routine is comforting, reassuring and necessary. And if we stop to think for a moment, we realise that we are lucky to have it.

January gives you time to just be. With fewer expectations, less pressure, and a vast supply of Christmas chocolates to keep you going.

So cheers, here’s to January. It’s not so bad.