Endings…

I started this blog almost three years ago primarily as a way of working through the grief of losing my mum. Writing about her made me laugh again because she was hilarious – she just didn’t know it. Hopefully, I did justice to her personality in my writing…

Mummy Shambles has also seen me through the anxious months of my son’s assessment and subsequent diagnosis of autism.

It’s been a welcome distraction to me during the many hours of insomnia and anxiety. I found that TV was exceptionally shite at 3 am so I blogged instead.

It’s also been the reason behind a few burnt dinners…

Oops.

For a person who finds communication difficult in the normal way, it has given my words coherency (ish) whereas in life I struggle to express myself without looking a tit.

But sometimes we have to move on and for me that time is now. Mummy Shambles was therapy but I have started a new blog which will have more of a sense of direction..

Mummy Shambles, bless ‘er, will be floating about on a lilo in the Bahamas, necking back the Pina Wotsits and whinging about how hot it is but for now the blog will remain in the blogosphere…

I would like to thank my followers (all five of them lol) for their support. I genuinely appreciate all the input I’ve received.

Thanks for taking the time to read and reply to my ramblings. It’s lovely to know my words have occasionally brought a lump to the throat, raised a smile or even better – a laugh. Hopefully, I will continue to do the same with the new blog.

Thank you also to all the hundreds of spammers who have been inspired by my heartfelt outpourings to flog me some shit. I have enjoyed deleting you!

My new blog will feature autism more because awareness is important to me but it will still be me rambling on about what it’s like to be a menopausally challenged berk who still fancies Nick Rhodes.

In a few weeks it will have a professionally done blog design *excited face* which I’m hoping will reflect what the blog is about.

So that’s it.

The new blog is called Inside The Rainbow so do feel free to pop by and say Hi.

So without further a do, it’s goodbye from her..

The blogger formerly known as Mummy Shambles.

The-End

 

Blog On

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The rather lovely Alison over at Rubbish Wife has most generously nominated my lil ol’ blog for an award. Yes, an award!

What is it?

The Liebster is basically an award for bloggers, by bloggers. There are trillions of blogs in the blogosphere but many (like mine) have a modest following. If the blogosphere was the sea, I’d be plankton!

The Liebster award shines the spotlight on our humble blogs and as awards go, I think it’s the best one out there. Not because it’s the only award my blog has ever been nominated for (or is likely to be) but because it reminds people that the small blogs are well worth a read. I’ve been blogging for a few years now and my face lights up when someone follows me. Not because I’m about followers (I’m not) but because it’s nice to know that someone actually wants to read my ramblings. The fact that one of those followers chose to nominate me because I made her laugh is reward enough for me. Do take a look at Alison’s website. She’s a bit good in the kitchen and scrolling through her fabulous recipes will have you re-thinking the sad looking fish-fingers and chips you’re about to serve up!

I started this blog after my mum died as a way of working through my grief. She died unexpectedly and I found myself in a bit of a shit-hole, mentally. I had to channel my grief into something productive before I ended up being carted off by the men in white suits. So Mummyshambles was created and it saved me from complete and utter lunacy.

What do you have to do?

It’s customary with these awards to nominate other blogs. It’s a chain thingy. I think my pelvic floor will collapse if I don’t keep it going. Oh wait, that’s already happened…

Of course, I’m joking. It’s just about bloggers showing fellow bloggers some love and giving their blogs some well deserved attention. So I’m nominating some blogs which have made me laugh, educated me or inspired me.

So in no particular order, my nominations are…

*stands poised, golden envelope in sweaty hands, pouts at the camera for longer than is necessary*

Starring G G tells it as it is. It’s real life, warts and all. Diverse and informative. Love it and so will you.

Just Good Enough Mum A wonderful blog by a wonderful lady who blogs about her life looking after her family and autism.

Starring Stella Stella blogs about her life as a wife and mum. She’s creative. She’s also a fantastic cook. Her posts inspire me to get off my arse and bake something.

Mark, Sonny and Luca Mark is a stay at home dad to two boys and writes to maintain some level of sanity. He writes with such humour that you’re in danger of choking on your toast, as I almost did!

These Are Grandma’s Thoughts A lovely blog filled with ‘funny, sometimes serious and sometimes sad’ thoughts of a young at heart grandma.

liebster5The nominator has to set some questions for the nominees to answer so here are Alison’s to me.

Tea or tipple? Pre-menopause, I’d have said tipple. Now I can only manage a pint of beer before falling into a coma. So I’ll say tea.

Which three words sum you up? Hormonally challenged idiot.

What would be number one on your bucket list? Getting locked in the potting shed with Alan Titchmarsh.

Tattoos..yay or nay? Yay because I have one (a small one on my back) nay to the head to toe tattooed look which looks like they’ve slept on a road atlas.

The last supper: What would you choose? Marmite on toast. Deal with it, people!

Snog, Marry, Avoid: who’s the weird crush you’d put on your laminate list. BE HONEST

Snog – Nick Rhodes. Not quite as pretty as he was in the 80’s but I still would. *puckers up*

Marry – Alan Titchmarsh. Yorkshire’s finest who can lay a decent patio. I actually got married a few weeks ago and waited for him to burst through the registry office door saying ‘Doont marry ‘im lass, marry uz!’ He mustn’t have got my e-mail. :/

Avoid – Gary Lineker – he’ll pinch yer crisps.

Nickname, what’s yours? Pootle. Actually, it isn’t. I don’t have one but if I could choose one, Pootle would be it.

Super-power for a day: what would you go for? Invisibility. The only super power that any self-respecting nosy git could ever want.

City break or beach babe? I’m a menopausal agoraphobic so neither.

If you could be famous, what would you like to be famous for? Finding a cure for menopausal insanity that doesn’t involve using horse piss.

Thanks. Alison, for these questions. You know a little bit more about me. aren’t you SO glad you asked?

Now it’s my turn to ask my nominees some questions. Muhaha.

1. Why did you start a blog?

2. What is your favourite quote of all time?

3. Has anybody ever told you you look like a celebrity? If so, who? (who do you look like, not who told you, obvs)

4. What is your favourite post that you’ve written? (provide link)

5. Name five people, alive or dead, that you’d like to meet.

6. Do you believe in ghosts?

7. If you were a character from a movie, who would you be?

8. What book would you want to be stranded on a desert island with?

9. Name your guilty celebrity crush.

10. Happiness is….

And that’s it. There are all kinds of ‘rules’ about Liebster floating about but to keep it simple you..

1. Thank whoever nominated you and link back to them.

2.  Swipe the Liebster image from their site and paste it onto yours.

3. Answer their probing questions as honestly or dishonestly as you see fit.

4. Choose people to nominate (should be blogs with followers of less then 200)

5. Ask them some probing questions

6. When your post is done, leave them a message on their blog (or Twitter) to let them know they’ve been nominated.

Bask in the knowledge that you just spread some love.

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Image Credit via Flickr by Davidlohr Bueso

Image credit Via Flickr by Sarah Reid

The Play, The Protest and The Song

When my eldest strutted around his primary school hall as Joseph in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat in the early nineties, little did I know that one day his passion for acting would become a career.

So it was with immense pride that I took my seat in the Lowry theatre in Manchester on Saturday night while I waited for him to enter the stage as Edgar in the Northern Broadsides production of Shakespeare’s King Lear.FullSizeRender(1)

When he walks out onto the stage, the audience see ‘Jack’. I see a boy who’s arse I’ve wiped and who’s tears I’ve dried. I see my little boy all grown up. It’s quite a surreal experience…

Despite seeing him perform numerous times, the thrill never gets old. I again had to resist the urge to whistle and shout “Ey up Son!” as he walked on. I believe such behaviour is frowned upon. As is wearing a T shirt with ‘I’m Jack’s mum’. I’ve been threatened with disownment if do..

Directed by Jonathan Miller (I’m a bit of a philistine when it comes to theatre but seems the bloke’s got a decent enough CV) it’s Lear but with a northern twist. Northern Broadsides was founded in 1992 by Barry Rutter (who plays Lear). He’s an actor/director and famously cast Lenny Henry as Othello in 2009.

A great cast, complete with some heaving bosoms and obligatory semi-nakedness (courtesy of my son) Yep, kit off, once again! His complex character of Edgar showcased his range and ability to switch flawlessly between roles. Obvious parental bias aside, he aint ‘alf good at this acting lark!

My son, K, is a photographer and the lad’s got a talent for it. Photography is his chosen career having graduated from university last year with some impressive grades. I am immensely proud of him and so pleased that another one of my children is making dollar from doing what they love. I hope he makes enough to put me in a decent old people’s home. Hint. Hint.anti-tory-protest-70 (401x600)

Unless you were visiting another planet last week, you’ll be aware of the general election and the Anti-Tory protest that happened the day after David Cameron snatched back the keys to Downing Street. My son was there in his capacity as a photographer and took shots from the start of the protest to it’s end. Somewhere along the way he found himself ‘kettled’ by riot police. He told me he’d been kettled and I envisioned a copper giving him a clout with the station kettle. Apparently not.. Kettling is a tactic police use for controlling large crowds, such as protests, but it’s seen as controversial because innocent bystanders (like my son) get detained alongside protesters.

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He put all his shots into a blog post and gave his honest account of the day as seen as a photographer. The media didn’t show people singing and dancing. They didn’t show the peaceful side to the protest. They didn’t always show the unnecessary force used by the police.

K’s photographs show how things can turn from the good, to the bad, to the downright ugly. This was a peaceful protest, marred by a few individual morons, one who defaced a war memorial. An unforgivable and disrespectful act which the media chose to focus on, giving the impression that the person who did that represented everybody else. Not so. K was genuinely shocked at some of the things he saw. I’m proud of him for speaking out and showing what really happened instead of what the media brainwashes us with.

His blog post has been shared over 700 times on social media.

And last (but in no way least) is my youngest son’s achievement this week.

I opened S’ school home-book to read that he’d sang a song in the hall.FullSizeRender(2)

What’s the big deal? I hear you ask.

Well, S is autistic and he struggles with noise. He doesn’t go into assemblies and hasn’t been able to take part in any of the concerts so far. However, sometimes, when he gets obsessed by something, he is able to override his discomfort for a brief time. The topic this month has been about Kenya and for some reason, he’s really taken to it, so much so that he was able to go into the hall with all his friends and sing the ‘Jambo Bwana’ song on Wednesday.

This is a MASSIVE accomplishment for him.

It doesn’t matter that he couldn’t do PE that afternoon or that he had to comfort himself with his numbers in order to come down from the excitement. Those few minutes where he chose to engage with everyone else made it a fantastic day!

Yesterday was recorded as a “tricky day” which means he’s struggled but this is how it goes with his autism. One step forward and a few steps back but we focus on his accomplishments, no matter how small.

Way to go, my little dude!

As parents, we’re all proud of our children’s achievements.

My biggest achievement has been my three boys. Each one an individual and each one leaving their mark on the world in their own special way. I couldn’t be any prouder of my boys.

Thank you Mama Owl for this opportunity to ‘big up’ my kids! 😉

The most splendid achievement of all is the constant striving to surpass yourself and to be worthy of your own approval ~ Denis Waitly

Protest Images by my son used with kind permission, as in, I asked and he said “Yeah, Ma, don’t worry, I’m hardly going to sue my own mother ha ha”

Mama Owl

You’re So Vain (you probably think this post is about you)

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Beauty is in the eye of the beholder but my idea of beauty differs greatly from that of the media.

Facelifts, Botox injections, teeth whitening and veneers are becoming common place for women these days and for television presenters of a ‘certain age’ it’s expected if they want to keep their jobs. Seemingly women have a shelf life, as opposed to their male counterparts, who’s only other requirement is a pulse. Men can go on presenting into their 80’s but women are put out to pasture on Radio 4 where they can still be heard but not seen.

The message from the media is that old is not beautiful.

As Catherine Tate’s ‘Nan Taylor‘ would say, “WHAT A LOAD OF OLD SHIT!!”

Women are becoming completely obsessed with their looks, desperately trying to eradicate the effects of time for fear of being replaced by a younger woman.

But what is beautiful?

The media portrays surgically altered and photo manipulated women as beautiful and as a result women are aspiring to be something that’s unrealistic.

Bigger boobs, smaller waist, thinner nose, bigger lips, smaller piss flaps, thicker hair, whiter teeth and muff styling – anything to change their appearance.

The result of continually going under the surgeons knife is something that wouldn’t look out of place in Madame Tussaud’s – only the really shit looking waxworks which look nothing like the celebrities they’re meant to be.

Then there’s these two…

I was stunned to read about the ‘Human Barbie‘, Valeria Lukyanova.

Er, what’s going on here then?

There is also Justin Jedlica ,dubbed ‘The Ken Doll” by the media, who has had 140 plastic surgery procedures in the last 15 years including 12 implants in his torso that mimic shapely arm and chest muscles.

According to him his body modification comes from a place of artistic creativity, not a mental illness.

Not deluded in the slightest!

If I was to come face to face with one of these creepy creatures, I’d presume that I’d been mixing my household chemicals again, or that I was actually dead and this was karma paying me for snapping the leg off a Barbie in 1978.

Recently Valeria claimed she wants to live only on light and air.

As you do..

In recent weeks I have not been hungry at all; I’m hoping it’s the final stage before I can subsist on air and light alone.

No, that’ll be the final stage before you die, but I’m sure you’ll look just fabulous in your coffin!

Normally, I’m a ‘whatever floats your boat’ person. If celebs want to take the risks with their looks, it’s tough false tits when it goes wrong but these ‘dolls’, especially the food dodger with her “food nihilism” and her message that surgery is the essence of beauty is alarming. They have a fan base, no doubt made up of perverts and impressionable girls.

For the good of humanity – load her and all the other ‘dolls’, including Ken with his fake pecs, into a rocket, light the boosters and fire em off into space before they have chance to reproduce.

Why in the name of Cher would anybody want to look like a doll? I had a Holly Hobbie once but I don’t want to have freckles tattooed on my face and wear a bonnet!

I’m not sure what alarms me more – the fact that people choose to do this to themselves or that unscrupulous surgeons are willing to exploit what amounts to mental illness. I am all for corrective or reconstructive surgery when it’s about quality of life, but this is insanity.

Celebs will go to extraordinary lengths to hold onto their youthful looks.

Mrs Beckham for instance, is rumored to be using a facial which involves bird poo.

Go sit on Blackpool prom with a tray of chips, Posh – you’ll be graced with more bird shit than you’ll know what to do with!

What’s so wrong with wrinkles anyway? They certainly haven’t done Dame Judi Dench any harm. She is proof that older women can be naturally beautiful and desirable.

I’m hardly Waynetta Slob when it comes to my beauty regime. I do try to look keep myself presentable but a twice weekly exfoliation and tash control is about as radical as it gets.

I’m growing fond of my lines. They show I’ve lived.  Many people don’t live to see their first wrinkle and at 44 I count myself lucky.

And I’m not totally against a little maintenance work here and there. Helen Mirren has had a subtle face and neck lift. The look is natural and in keeping with her age. She’s not trying to look 18 again.

I’ve grown up watching my mother trying to fend off time. She spent that much money on creams and potions, I expected a sympathy card from  L’Oreal when she died.

Her self esteem plummeted as she aged. She didn’t do age. She wasn’t comfortable with it. She’d get stroppy when we playfully ribbed her about it then she’d flounce off upstairs saying, “Sod the lotta yer!”

She had these amazing brown eyes and never looked more beautiful than first thing in the morning before the make up went on. She despised her wrinkles but I loved them, partly because I’d helped to put them there – especially the furrows in her brow.

I prefer natural beauty – amazing eyes and a great smile do it for me.

Maybe if society appreciated older women more, Ma would have been more confident with her looks.

My mother was a beautiful woman, she just couldn’t see it.

Lets take a look at these crows feet, just look
Sitting on the prettiest eyes
Sixty 25th of Decembers
Fifty-nine 4th of July’s
You can’t have too many good times, children
You can’t have too many lines
Take a good look at these crows feet
Sitting on the prettiest eyes

~ Prettiest Eyes – The Beautiful South

Image Credit

This post is part of  Mumturnedmom‘s linky.

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These Wellies Are Made For Walking

School holidays… that time where, despite good intentions, parents are to be found sobbing into something alcoholic by the end of day three.

There are lots of amazing blog posts doing the rounds with pictures of crafting sessions and fun times but just out of camera shot, you can bet there’s a bottle of Gordons and a family size bar of Dairy Milk stashed in the cleaning cupboard next to the Cillit Bang.

Activities with S are limited because of his sensory and social problems. We have a lovely big park within a short distance but I’m still recovering from last Sunday’s trip where S had the mother of all meltdowns. ‘Damien’ was firing on all cylinders. Needless to say, it will be a few weeks before we’re allowed back by the fur hat and Hunter welly brigade. We soooooo lowered the tone. Oops.

There are woods nearby to where we live and it was a nice day yesterday, so I decided to take him for a walk in his wellies.

Walks have to be planned like a military exercise. I gave him warning using now and then prompts and I made sure I had plenty of things that he likes, technical word is incentives – commonly known as bribes.

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So if I don’t have a meltdown, I can have this, yeah?

Whenever we go for a walk, I have a bag of sensory objects, food, drink and his beloved numbers. We can’t go anywhere without his pockets bulging with numbers…

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Going back to my roots!

I love trees. I love how their roots splay across the ground, gnarled and twisted- like an old woman’s feet. Yet there is  beauty to them and the knowledge that this big ol’ tree, it’s bark tattooed with declarations of love, was once a tiny seedling.

These roots say, ‘I’ve been here for decades, I’ve seen some stuff y’know? so think about that before you shove your used condoms and beer cans in my hollows!’

Nature fascinates me. It brings something different to the table with each season. You could set your camera up on the same spot yet end up with hundreds of different images.

We should have more respect for Mother Nature, she’s amazing.

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Shadows and tall trees.

I’m not exactly into hugging trees but there is a special energy about them. I love lying down on the floor of woodland or a forest and gazing up at the branches… having carried out a poo inspection first. Obvs.

It’s so peaceful to gaze up into the sky..

Peaceful, that is, until some livid dog owner spoils it all by screeching “RAMBONE!, FFING COME BACK HERE, NOOOOOOOOW!!!!”

Rambone will most likely be found trawling through a bag of rotting food or rolling in fox shit.

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Shades of winter

I asked S to find things for me to photograph. Interestingly, all his suggestions were at floor level so I encouraged him to look up and around as well as down. He liked the colour of these leaves. After autumn’s explosion of colour, winter can be bare while it waits for spring to bring it to life. But there is colour and interest to be found even in the middle of winter.

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S getting tactile with a post

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The Common Fosteris Cannus

The ignorant of the species strike again. Why do people do this? They have no regard for where they live or the wildlife that they are endangering by leaving their rubbish about. Idiots.

Kids love sticks, right? So I asked S to go and find a stick while I took a breather on a mossy boulder. I watched him as he zipped in and out of the trees looking for one that took his interest.

He came staggering back with what looked like a small tree so I suggested that he downsize a little and eventually, he came back with this one.

He carried it all the way home and I had to keep explaining why he couldn’t poke it through people’s letterboxes…

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S doesn’t like the feel of paint or glue on his fingers but he will happily play with a dirty stick. That’s autism for you. Unpredictable.

It wasn’t a long walk and we were only gone for about an hour but it was a thoroughly enjoyable hour. I felt relaxed because there were no people about. It didn’t matter if he had a meltdown. Most everything else we do is stressful because it involves stimulus that S struggles to cope with and more often than not, people. In that one hour, there was nobody there but us. Bliss.

There are plenty of things that you can do with your children for free. You don’t have to spend money to have fun.

Here’s hoping that you made it through the week in one piece.

Next stop, Easter.

OMG!