I hate zoos – I always have done. I have never understood why huge beasts, such as lions and let’s topically say, gorillas, can be kept in enclosures for us weird humans to gawp at. I think that zoos have improved since I was young and animals are kept in larger enclosures with hiding space. However personally, I still don’t like zoos. I even felt like an imposter in the Kruger National Park. No wonder the animals all sloped away from us, with our yelling and gesticulating and posh cameras pointing at moving bushes.

My statement is an entirely subjective one and doesn’t delve into such issues as wildlife conservation and the amazing work that zoo keepers do within their profession. It is simply my personal feeling.

So, reading about the incident at the Cincinnati Zoo last weekend, I, like everyone else felt saddened that a gorgeous creature had been killed. My initial thoughts were actually with the gorilla. Every time I read about it or heard about it, my heart ached for that amazing beast. It didn’t actually cross my mind to blame anyone, I just felt sad. Then came the hate. Not from me; I felt like a bystander in a zoo, watching and listening as bait was thrown into the social media lions’ enclosure, only to be ripped apart and spat out with judgement and venom: at the zoo keepers, at the parents…on the whole I think that Harambe the gorilla escaped the peoples’ wrath.

I repeated my mantra to myself: never judge a person until you have walked a mile in their moccasins. I read the arguments, I listened to the news reports, I watched the video and rather than judging, I tried to empathise with the parents. I had already empathised with Harambe, but now I had to readdress the balance in my mind. So I thought about the parents of the 3 year old boy, who managed to get into the enclosure. I imagined that one of my daughters was in with Harambe. I thought about how helpless I would feel and how I would be holding my breath every millisecond she was in there. I imagined how, with every movement he made, I would be screaming at him not to hurt her, whilst at the same time knowing that he is not a human and that I could not reason with him. I thought about how I would feel so out of control. I imagined how I would feel when he first dragged her across the water, as she went under and I would feel her fear and disorientation. And when he took her away from my sight and it went quiet, I imagined my complete and utter terror and how every part of my body would feel wretched with despair. Not for seconds, but for 10 whole, long, gut-wrenching minutes.

I am a human and a parent. I know that we are not as perfect as others would want us to be. We are not as perfect as others expect us to be, although they themselves are not perfect. I imagined myself holding my daughter when the keepers brought me to her. Holding her tight, away from the grasps of a 450-pound gorilla and I thought to myself that as much as I empathised with that gorgeous beast, I would want my daughter back in my arms more than anything else in the world.

Yesterday morning I gave partner’s towel a sniff. I know what you’re thinking – live life on the edge, well I did. I gave it a great big sniff to decide whether it needed to go into the wash. Now, I have a theory: towels don’t get that dirty. I’m talking about the towel you use to dry yourself off after a shower. I mean, am I missing something here? How do they ever get dirty? Surely, in theory, we could leave a towel unwashed for months and nobody would die…or even notice. Bath towels fill up a wash. They take a fair bit of drying, depending on their quality of course, and if you tumble dry them, you are harming the planet – apparently. All this when they have only ever been wrapped around a squeaky clean bod.

I admit that a problem may arise if a clean towel is not properly dried. It then retains a horrible fusty sort of smell and this brings me back to why I gave partner’s towel a good old sniff. I am not going to tell you how often we wash our bath towels in this house, for fear of reprisal. I saw that very question asked on a parent forum and I was amazed by how many people replied: every day. Now, either they are lying, or like nothing better than to wash a towel. I like nothing better than giving the towels a sniff and a nod and pouring a glass of wine, or making a cup of tea, whilst simultaneously congratulating myself on doing my bit towards saving the planet. Not through any particular Eco reason, just because I can’t be arsed haven’t got time to wash six bath towels every day.

Unfortunately, on this occasion partner’s towel failed the sniff test and had to go straight into a 90 degree wash. I blame the weather, it’s getting confused and thinking it is November and so nothing is drying properly. However, in the normal run of things, if everyone just did the sniff test on their bath towels, the planet could be saved!

I’m not sure that the sniff test can be equally applied to sheets. When the kids were younger, thanks to a regular cycle of bed wetting, nosebleeds, worms and nits, their sheets got washed very regularly. Nowadays though, there is no other reason to wash their sheets than: shit, I haven’t washed their sheets for weeks. Please no hate. They all shower/have their baths at night. They go to bed clean as whistles and really can’t generate that much dirt, by simply lying asleep.

Don’t worry, although I apply my above theory to bath towels and kids’ bed sheets, hand towels, tea towels, dog towels and our sheets are washed very regularly, but I am not going to tell you how often, just in case I am judged.

As I put on my thong this morning, I remembered that I read an article last week telling me that thongs are officially ‘out’ and that they suit no-one (harsh – the fashion journalist obviously hasn’t seen my luscious peaches framed in an Anne Summer’s special). Did I heed advice and remove the outmoded item …did I feck. I carried on regardless with post 40 impunity. No longer do I feel the need to adhere to lingerie advice from the experts. The article mentioned, with pictures, the new sort of garment that has replaced the thong and I just wasn’t convinced. You see the thing is, that for all its wrongs, it has many rights. My teenage daughters are repulsed by the idea of sporting one, let alone their mother displaying her butt cheeks (and I’m not talking public performances, I’m referring to the odd occasion they walk into my bedroom when I am in a state of semi-undress and scream: “that’s disgusting!” as they scarper). However, I am still a thong believer.

Let’s face it, it’s been, ‘dead’ before and replaced by boy pants – I like them too! Please don’t let these also be dead, or my underwear drawer will be a coffin full of decaying pants from a yesteryear.

During my extensive research for this blog (hmm) I came across possibly one of the most yucky articles I have ever read. Even worse than those featured in: breast fed babies’ nappies weekly (no, that doesn’t really exist and yes, I do advocate breast feeding where possible HOWEVER I also remember the nappies…) It was an article published by Cosmopolitan, titled: 13 Times You Should Never Wear a Thong. I clicked on the link innocently enough, thinking it would cover such things as: when wearing low cut jeans and if you have piles, but no. I shan’t link drop, just in case you are reading this whilst eating breakfast, but I will give you an idea of the content by picking out a phrase from each point:
I’ll just start with the intro by Jill Rabin, M.D., professor of obstetrics and gynaecology: ‘the fabric can easily shift between your rectum and vagina…’ Feeling sexy? Read on:
1. ‘avoid icky, uncomfortable outcomes’ The mind boggles…
2. ‘can foster bacteria growth that disrupts your vagina’s healthy balance’ Eurrggh, suddenly mine is itching me…
3. ‘you could sweep up bacteria that rival those in a porta-potty’ I remember those portable potties and having no shame whipping it out in the middle of the pavement, if the toddler so much as intimated at the word, ‘pee’ or ‘poo’, but I digress…
4. ‘bacterial vaginal infections’ not my bag…
5. yeast infection’ been there – doesn’t blow my hair back…
6. ‘if you’re skipping your daily shower’ Never. Couldn’t. Ever…
7. ‘your tampon string rub up against your rectum, then drag it forward to infect your vagina’ too technical for a creative type like me…
8. ‘bad news’ yes, I’m getting that now. In fact, I won’t go on to 13 as it may be unlucky for some of us who rather like them. Well, not any more. Thanks to Dr Rabin I feel that only a thin piece of lace sits between me and nasty infection, possibly death – it wouldn’t read well on my headstone. I shall consult my daughters for suitable alternatives. I did Google alternatives, but it all got a bit: hot girls in thongs and I felt I should keep my browsing history, like my mind and my body, clean.

I was accosted the other day by one of my lovely blog readers. Hello MadHouseMum, she said. I’m enjoying your blogs, but all of us who know you, know that you are lying. You haven’t got a muffin top or a bra bulge! and off she cheerily went. It was strange being outrightly called a liar – albeit in a very jovial way and I gave partner a slightly concerned look. You see, the thing is, I have, but I guess that everything is relative. What lovely blog reader sees is a relatively fit person – I do teach Taekwon-do for love and money – and she knows that I have always beasted personal trained people for a living. What she will not realise, of course, is that through injury I have not been able to train so much and since my shoulder operation last month, I am not able to train at all. So, although outwardly I still look relatively trim, inwardly I am feeling fat and unfit. The only diets that I am used to are fairly extreme carb starvation combined with hard training, to get down to my competition fighting weight, but now I am faced with trying to watch what I eat because I can’t exercise. Now, I feel like I am seeing diet and exercise and the struggles therein from an altogether different perspective and from my perspective right now, it is hard and I do notice those bulges that I’ve blogged about.

I looked at them in the mirror this morning. I tensed my tummy muscles and thought that I looked OK. I turned to partner: if I do this in Spain, I told him, I think I’ll look alright. (Note, this comment was referring to a front view of myself – the rear side is a whole other story). Do I look as if I’m sucking in? I asked him. No, he said. You just look very tense and then he laughed sarcastically and went on: don’t relax on holiday, whatever you do, just spend the whole time looking like that.

He’s got a point, I thought to myself and so has lovely blog reader. Outwardly I do look ok and inwardly I just need to chill.

That was then…no jumping around on the beach for me this year!

So apparently, eating fat can make you slim…bloody marvelous. Fish and chips, bacon butties and pizza…what, pardon? Sorry…what did you say?? Oh, I getcha, healthy fats. This is celebrity trainer, James Duigan’s idea of what we should all be following:

Monday: ‘Put wilted spinach in a ramekin’, Tuesday: On Monday night…bla, bla, bla (it lost me after telling me to basically ‘be prepared’ 12 hours in advance…I mean, ya whaaat?!
Wednesday: ‘Fry onion in coconut oil, add spinach and wilt’

Ok, ok yeah: ‘and wilt’, because by Wednesday morning on this bloody diet, I would be wilting. Not through protein loading or overuse of the current foodie lovey that is: coconut oil, but wilting because I hardly have time in the mornings to pee. I don’t have time in the mornings to look in the mirror first thing and spot that I look like shit (luckily), I certainly don’t have time to be pleasant. I already have my mornings mapped out and trust me baby, there is no room for ramekins in there. There just isn’t the space to fry f-all and I’m telling you right now, honey, if you think I can deal with garlic…yes, you heard me right, garlic (see Thursday), at 7am, then you really don’t know me! I AM LUCKY TO MAKE IT TO THURSDAY!!! By Thursday morning I am whooping and hollering that tomorrow is Friday and I can crack open wine with impunity. I am NOT in the crushing garlic zone! ‘Fill with smashed avocado’…seriously, is this for real? By Thursday there are several things, such as teenagers’ heads, that need smashing together, but smashing an avocado?? Really?

Friday: more wilting spinach – I can relate to that – yes, we’re wilting it right up here – and, ‘scramble’…or more like: SCRAMBLE!!! (Said in a delirious Saturday night tv presenter’s over-enthusiastic voice, with the emphasis on the final syllables).

And SCRAMBLE I shall – away from celebrity trainer: James Duigan and his diet. It may well be Lara Stone’s food of choice, perhaps it gets David Gandy fired up in the mornings, but for me, I’ll stick to my well-oiled routine: alarm, groan, shower, still groaning but a little less so, background noise of kids killing each other over tights, downstairs, listen to kids constantly bickering over naff all that is important, sign a planner – either for four weeks in advance or for four weeks that I haven’t signed it, trip over the dogs, trip over the kids, hear that their train has been cancelled, groan, make packed lunches if I forgot to the night before and boot four kids out the door…and BREATHE…is there room in my life for wilting bloody spinach or sprinkling ANYTHING, let alone garlic (see Day 6) …the answer is no.

Does anyone have time for this? Really…anyone? (Actually, if you really do, then please don’t make me feel any more crap by telling me).

Btw…I haven’t even started on his lunch menu, but safe to say, if you don’t like fish then you’re scuppered and if anyone knows how to stuff a trout (no rude jokes please guys) or to make, ‘courgette ribbons’, then please e mail me. Actually, don’t bloody bother, because I will be too busy having a life.

I don’t like to leave the house looking like a bag of shite, though that’s certainly not to say this doesn’t happen. I recall a conversation with a friend some years ago, (when I was younger and less understanding), in which I commented on the fact that as celebrities know that they are going to get photographed when they leave their front door, why don’t they at least make an effort to look half decent. I went on to say that I never leave the house thinking that I look like shit. My friend was appalled. She couldn’t believe that I was judging the celebs so harshly and added that she often leaves the house without having made any effort whatsoever. We were good friends and I still to this day remember being surprised at our difference of opinion – it’s one of those conversations that stays with you.

A selection of celebs who are looking a bit shit (or, as I would say now that I am older and more sympathetic to the above weary and stressed out appearances, the camera just caught them at an unfortunate angle)

Appearances are an interesting thing. We all know the old adage that appearances can be deceiving and of course this is true. However, quite often they are the real deal: the parent with baby sick on their shoulder tells a story of a family with a newborn child. The teenager with her tits hanging out tells us of her need for attention, me covered in dog hair shows that I own dogs and so on. It did amuse me when I heard about my little sister’s recent job interview for a job as a Hostage Negotiator. She told me that while she was waiting to be seen by the panel, she realised that her skirt was tucked into her knickers. Phew, she chuckled to the receptionist, can you imagine if I hadn’t noticed! That’s the least of your worries, ma’am, the receptionist replied, your knickers are on inside out!

Sometimes we get away with an appearance issue, like the time partner inadvertently wore his slippers to Co-op, and sometimes we don’t, such as the time he took my Taekwon-do trousers squad training instead of his own. When he got back and told me he had worn them I was mortified with embarrassment for him. He, on the other hand just shrugged his shoulders and said, “it was fine, no-one even noticed.” The following week I entered the changing rooms to hoots of laughter from the female squad, who were beside themselves laughing at the fact he had trained in my trousers. Sometimes, ignorance of others’ thoughts is bliss. (Partner did rightly point out, that had he not trained in my trousers, he would have been training in his pants…I shudder to think…)

So what are your thoughts on this quote:

“In your 20’s and 30’s, you worry about what other people think. In your 40’s and 50’s you stop worrying about what other people think. Finally in your 60’s and 70’s, you realize they were never thinking about you in the first place!”

At the end of the day, if someone’s appearance doesn’t have a direct impact on us, then do we really care? And most interestingly – SHOULD we?

Us ladies are a funny (fabulous, wonderful and charming) bunch of people. No sooner has a friend on Facebook given the slightest whiff of concern about saggy boobs and there are 25 women telling her (quite rightly) that she is beautiful inside – at the same time as being the voices of realism and telling her that they too have saggy tits since breastfeeding 1, 2, 5 kids and then throwing in something sex related along the lines of: bet hubby doesn’t care though 😉 to which the one with saggy tits replies: glad I’m not the only one! THAT’S why we are so amazing, because we empathise, but we are realists. We empathise because we’ve been through similar experiences, we’re realists because these experiences are often shit and sometimes demoralising and often painful, all in varying degrees and we know that you can’t always sugarcoat it.

So back to the, ‘but you are beautiful inside’, in all its various guises.

What I want to know is, us ladies are so bloody good at dishing all this out, why do we find it ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE to believe our own hype? Because let’s face it ladies, if we really did believe this, why the hell are we spending so much money on make-up? Why are we chucking bloody awful slimshakes down our necks and pretending we’re ok doing it (at the same time as retching into the sink)? Why the heck are we googling ‘tummy tuck’ and thinking which of the kids we would sell to pay for it? If we’re all so bloody gorgeous on the inside? LIKE THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS! The point is, of course, that however lovely we are as people, most of us want to look good on the outside too, no matter how much we all, in each others’ lowest moments, are trying to convince ourselves otherwise.

So how about some alternative quotes to wheel out the next time a friend tells us that she hates her tits or her arse or her hair or her thighs. Perhaps these will encompass both empathy and realism in fairly equal measure, without us having to muster up a weak smile and nod when one of us tells you that you are inwardly beautiful, whilst you are thinking: but I wasn’t feeling that inner beauty today, as I told the husband he was a twat and shouted back louder at the kids than they shouted at me. These quotes are for us ladies:

The can is open and the worms are crawling everywhere, since a mumsnet user posted a question on the parenting forum:

“Would you leave a peacefully sleeping 10m old home alone for 7 minutes?” The user explained that their 10-month-old sleeps reliably and at the same time every day. They also said that their journey took 7 minutes and the destination was 50m away.

It sparked over 800 replies and naturally the Daily Mail got hold of it too…the debate rampages on. Since Madeleine McCann went missing in Portugal in 2007, we have become the judges and the jury. Before this, we all went with our gut. She was 3 years old when ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is, happened and I had children not much older than her. Of course it hit home. You couldn’t help but become obsessed with the story. I can clearly remember watching a news report when Kate McCann, the mother, was first visiting the police station to be questioned. How can she look so calm? I thought (judging – thinking how I’d react). How dare I judge! I didn’t just have an opinion, I judged. Is there a difference between the two? The point is, pre Madeleine’s still unexplained disappearance, I left my babies alone and not just me, friends and family behaved in a similar way to me. Sounds shocking? You haven’t heard the details yet. The mumsnet lady hadn’t given details, so of course we all form an opinion on what we can see or hear. After a negative reaction to her post, with some positives for what she did too, she gave us avid readers more details: she lives in a flat and she was picking up boxes of clothes so that she could try them on in peace…hey lady, stop! You’re making it sound worse to the mumsnet gestapo, not better! She says that she did a risk assessment first, possibly similar to the one you might do before opening a second bottle of wine, she assessed the risk as, ‘oh fuck it, go on then!’. Yes, I’ve done that same risk assessment that she did, on my babies. What allows us as mums to love, cherish, live and die for our babies, but still happily leave them alone in certain situations? Buying petrol – you do a quick risk assessment: baby asleep in car seat, door locked, I’ll be literally minutes and can see the car from the window, tick. The positives hugely override the negatives of waking her up, especially when you’ve spent the past 30 minutes driving around getting her to sleep and that’s why you now need the bloody petrol. Then, while you are in the petrol station, a car that is parked on a hill opposite rolls down the hill, onto the garage forecourt and into the side of the car where your bundle is sleeping. Unlikely? It happened to me when I was a child. Is it ever worth the risk?

People replied to the lady on mumsnet saying: what if a fire ripped through her house while she was out. Others posted, ‘unlikely’. The point is that we never know what might happen and you can bet that all of us who may say fair play to her, would be the first to tut if there had been a fire. So, back to the days of the gut instinct? When my children were tiny, I lived in a village, which perhaps made me feel (stupidly) safe, or perhaps I was just bloody knackered and my brain was in that place they pack their bags and take themselves off to when baby one appears. I don’t know why I did it, but I parked my car, complete with 4 kids under 5 in it, outside our local village shop, left the engine running and ran in to buy something. My risk assessment was screwed. Maybe I thought no-one would want 4 kids under 5 and would leave them well alone. Another mum came into the shop and asked me whether I wanted someone to take them, as she handed me my car keys. I was incensed (embarrassed) – how dare she! Looking back on the incident, my reaction is: how could I have done that?! But I did.

Perhaps the answer to the worms is never to take a risk. Just simply imagine that the worst may very well happen, rather than very well won’t. Is this a healthy way to live, adding to the neurosis that comes with the title of ‘parent’?

One thing that is for certain: as a nation we have become extremely judgemental. I suspect it is the rise in social media that is to blame for this. We play out our lives on line and we are bate. One of my favourite quotes is: