For almost a decade I have sometimes endured but mostly enjoyed, a quiet, child free home, doing just as I please whenever I wish, interrupted only by visits from friends and family. My grown up 2 bedroom flat has been my sanctuary & craft studio for 8 years where I could come and go as I wanted, leave my dvd's in a pile, certain they would still be there when I came home from work, eat when I liked & the only one who noticed I was late home because I'd dropped in on this or that friend or taken 2 hours to do my shopping was my cat. I haven't shared a house with a child since I was a child myself and my only dependants were a variety of cats and goldfish.

Then I met ........

Now, along with my new husband, I have also gained two young housemates. Over two years my new family made themselves at home, leaving bits and pieces with each visit, left their mark on our new house and my car with pictures, 'boy' decorated bedrooms, minions and blue bath paint, gradually encouraging me in their own unique ways to adapt to the changes I would soon find myself living with every day. Just over 8 months ago that day came & hit me, HARD.

Having two young boys that have a regular meal time and not the ad hoc breaks I'm accustomed to, is the very least that I've been trying to get used to. My freezer and cupboards now contain things they never did before, and I find bits of lego and toy cars in my handbag and shoes. My TV is taken over by CBBC and football, I already dislike some of the theme tunes, and why on earth is Horrid Henry entertaining?? Although I do quite like Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

Our youngest is an early bird and delights in wandering into our room barely after dawn to announce the sky is awake, he is awake, therefore so must we be. Fortunately I too am an earlyish bird, enjoying the quiet of the house before anyone else is up. And so my new young son wanders across the landing to the bathroom or around the kitchen after me chatting away as I make a much needed coffee, completely unaware that although my eyes are open, they are not always focussed enough at that time of the morning to see where his little but rapidly growing feet are.

There are things I have no clue about. For instance, I now have 3 males in the house and I don't understand football, play fighting, Minecraft, computer games of any description and why is the cleanliness of a toilet largely apparent only to me. I learnt quickly that I don't know anything about what makes a good school, how much they have changed since I was at school, and as my beloved and the boys moved into the area, choosing a school, is something that, even with my best intentions and efforts, I still know absolutely nothing about and it's best I leave it to my husband. He has after all had a few more years of practice than me.

I don't know what's normal behaviour for kids either. Is it different now to how it was when I was growing up or is it just that I was different? I was an introvert child who from what I understand was very quiet & would amuse myself much of the time. I certainly didn't speak to my parents the way some children do now but am I just being 'old' wearing rose tinted glasses? Either way it confuses me.

It's a strange thing being a step parent. When you make that commitment to your husband or wife, you are also agreeing to raise their children, children you did not give birth to and have now been thrown in at the deep end to bring up as your own. Don't misunderstand, I don't resent it or them in any way, but it is soul destroyingly hard work and until relatively recently, I can honestly say that I could not and did not appreciate what parents have to do, or how tired they get. Wow, the tiredness or to be exact, weariness, was a real eye opener. Most of the time I am a relatively placid person but I've discovered a deep anger and frustration I didn't know I was capable of. The children are no worse than any others, they just do what kids do, but even though I knew parenting pushes your patience to the limit, it brings me to tears when those limits are quickly reached & shattered.



I'm not naturally a mother. I don't have those maternal instincts that some mothers have and have no idea how to find them. In a way I envy my friends who want to have as many children as possible and fill their homes to the rafters with an ever expanding brood because they absolutely love spending every single second of their life with their children. Even if that's not how they feel all the time, they are happy to impart at any available opportunity how fantastic it is to be a parent and overflow about how there is no feeling as wonderful as knowing they have brought another little version of themselves into the world and no sooner are they home from hospital as there is another on the way. I'm not like that. Sometimes I feel that perhaps I was made wrong.

When people say being a parent is the hardest job in the world they weren't kidding. No matter how hard I try to get it right, or at least not wrong, understand how best to approach or tackle an issue or concern, do what's best for them and be a good mum, I always feel like I'm messing it up, saying something thoughtless out of frustrating or weariness that will backfire in my face. I'm so conscious of accidentally doing something that will scar them forever, damage their self esteem or the bond between them and their dad. I try my best but largely have no idea what I'm doing. I'm learning as I go along but am constantly playing catch up. It's like swimming in an ocean with land in sight but far away and the best swimming skills I have are the doggy paddle. One false move and I'll go under.

One of my fellow parent friends said, every parent feels like they are playing catch up and then just when you think you've got your child sussed, they change the goal posts again and you have to start all over again'. She is so right.

This together with selfishness, meltdowns - from me and them, tantrums - from them, rudeness, and what I perceive as ungratefulness for what parents have to sacrifice, results now and then in me bursting into tears either at home, at Church, or in the middle of the department at work and looking like a waterfall for an hour while my boss sympathetically tries to calm me down. I've discovered to my horror I am capable of murderous thoughts I couldn't previously believed to be possible and feeling a complete failure as a human being let alone a parent because I have them. All I can say is when the mist descends for them or you, disengage immediately!

The difference between being a step in parent and when you've been with the child from birth is that you are already a few years behind when you start and when you have given birth to a child you grow and change with them rather than being thrown in at the deep end part way through. I find though that following my husband's lead is the best chance I've got at understanding my new charges. From what I can gather this is a very common feeling amongst all parents, regardless of how it came about.

Gone are the days of being able to spontaneously take off for the weekend or dropping round to a friend's for dinner or a coffee that I've been used to or perhaps in parallel universe, as a newly married couple. Everything must be planned, organised, worked into the routine and back in time for dinner. On the plus side, the boys are that bit older being in infants and juniors rather than babies or pre-schoolers, so it's not quite such a military expedition and we can trust them to walk along the street without holding our hand's unless they want to & not have to plan scheduled toilet stops and places to warm bottles. Rather, my bag hides comics, tiny lego men, snack bars and juice cartons.

I don't understand the language of children either. The boys are really into Minecraft and football and to my embarrassment, glaze over when they start talking about either. I try, I really do, but I have absolutely no idea what they're talking about and would probably have more luck if they were speaking in French. I am by no means fluent but my pigeon French at best makes more sense than creepers, diamond keys, raining liquorish, lava that looks like baked beans or the off side rule. On the plus side we now have 2 fabulously decorated bedrooms, one devoted to football, the other to minecraft, both of which the children helped design and decorate. As nice as they are, and the children love their bedrooms, I have to admit that I love our Parisian themed bedroom more with cream and gold wallpaper, soft lighting and crushed velvet purple curtains. A little sanctuary amidst the chaos.


I battle with the often overwhelming frustration of trying to be a good wife and mother, feeling like I'm drowning in a sea of dirty plates, plastic cups, undistributed laundry, strewn about shoes and unrealistic expectations, I am so thankful our bathroom has a lock on it where I can hide in the shower until the hot water runs out and the feelings/fears have passed. The recurring state of the kitchen drives me nuts but we now have a dishwasher. We didn't really have room but in the hope that it would help with the removal of the land mass I affectionately called Mount Crockery, I made room. Thankfully it has helped. I also devised a rota for whose washing got done on what day, laminated it and stuck copies of it in the kids rooms, bathroom & by the washing machine. Each person has their day with a day in between for drying I no longer have to separate the laundry. This gives the kids a little responsibility as well. They know when their day is and if their washing basket isn't outside their bedroom door before school it doesn't get washed. The boys also had to choose 3 jobs each out of 6 that would be down to them to do before dinner. So far so good. 

We have no choice other than to be organised. Despite my best efforts, I am not organised at all and Hubs often has to text me shopping lists because I've forgotten it again or remind me the kids have to be somewhere so I need to hurry up getting home from work by whatever time because I've got part of the dinner in my car and have forgotten the time. I am told that before school & bedtime routines are essential. Throw in football practice, matches, clubs, homework and I need for lists for everything.

I must throw in a fantastic tip given to us before I forget: Invest in a trampoline, 10 foot if possible or the biggest your garden will comfortably take. It's the best investment we've ever made & keeps the boys busy for hours.

I often think nostalgically back to the days when I would take off to Cornwall on my own with my tent and explore for hours on end, I miss camping. We have planned to go at least once a year, somehow I have to make sure that happens. Part of me dies a little bit when I can't go camping and exploring the great outdoors. That's perfectly suited to kids so it shouldn't be a problem except our eldes hates camping. Fortunately they both enjoy running around the woods, climbing trees and jumping in big muddy puddles in wellies.

I love bedtimes with our youngest. We read stories cuddled up on his bed, say prayers, I answer his torrent of questions, and share kisses and tickles until he falls asleep. He loves to read, especially Shakespeare. He has lots and lots of questions, sometimes about life, sometimes about the story, sometimes about random stuff that I have no clue where it came from. He has a beautiful heart and wants to love the whole world until nobody is lonely or hungry or sad and everyone learns how to love God more. That is something we will fight to protect in him. He wants to love the whole world by hugging them, being their friend and feeding them chocolate. The world can be a very selfish place. Anyone (child or adult) who genuinely wants to and strives to make the world a better place through love not dictatorship should be encouraged. Enthusiasm should be encouraged and gently guided to be maximum effectiveness don't you think?

The Eldest's main love is football. He lives, breathes and sleeps it. He recites players and match results like a commentator, writes and reads all about it, and plays for the school and borough. His big ambition, like many boys, is to play for his favourite team professionally. Every Sunday one or both of us with Little'un in tow, drive him to whichever football match he is playing and cheer him on from the side lines, with a flask of coffee and hopefully a bacon buttie. When we come home he is either on the trampoline practicing kicks and flicks or asking when he can play Fifa.

I'm very critical of myself and perfection is always the goal but I've had to learn fast how to give myself a break (no easy task for me) and that it's ok to admit when I can't cope. To be honest though saying it out loud is one thing, believing it myself is another. I am a chronic worrier and have a desperate need to always be perfect even though I know it is unobtainable. I have discovered since taking up the role of mum how much of a control freak I am. I knew I was to a level although it looked different but becoming a step parent has uncovered it in its rawest form. As far as kids being challenging is concerned, I'm learning to be an Olympic standard swimmer with doggy paddle skills but I keep being told to not fight every battle (very difficult for me), make routine mine and their friend, to hold on to the good moments & remember the bad bits will pass. I don't know how effective that really is but as I have nothing else to work from its good enough to start with. I find the answering back the most tiring, that and the messiness.
I've never been very good at the tidiness game but I don't do well with other people's mess at all. Funny isn't it. Theoretically there shouldn't be any difference, it's just all mess but noo, theirs (anyone's other than mine) drives me nuts, but mine I don't see for ages. Then I go to my sisters house which is like a show home even with turbo legged children in it. How does that happen? ? I think she waves a wand or gets fairies in! 😋 I wonder if she rents them out? ? 


Do not underestimate how hard making a transition like this is going to be if you ever do this yourself. I love my husband and the boys very much but acclimatising is hard. VERY hard. Mood swings, frustration, tears, pulling my hair out, wanting to run away, desperation, learning to cope with or over look those irritating habits which seem impossible to ignore, and what really can't be. In just 2 months I had got to the end of my rope and started having physical reactions to food due to the stress. I'm pleased when I get to the end of the day and I haven't cried from frustration and I haven't mentally pictured slamming their heads into the wall. Obviously I don't do anything to risk their lives, safety, cause injury or cause mental scarring but in my head. ......

The boys aren't troublesome all the time, it comes in waves but aren't we like that from time to time. We both accidently do cause unnecessary conflict which results in shouting and tantrums and sometimes those go on for days in one way or another but other times the kids are lovely. I'm not finding adjusting to any of it very easy from being single & living alone for so long. But we have our ground rules and when it comes to the boys arguing with us, we disengage immediately...or at least try to.

If they are repeatedly disobedient there are consequences. With both of us working, everyone in the house has to help out. How they keep the bedrooms is up to them until someone is visiting or the smell emerges onto the landing. If they fight/argue between themselves we leave them to it to sort out how to work together. If they draw blood or there are black eyes, then we intervene. And we make routine our best ally.

And so 8 months on life has settled down a bit. We are over the first tsunami of irritations that goes with getting used to living with someone, calm is more frequent and routine is becoming our friend. The spring is here, a country park not far away is becoming a familiar haunt where we can all get back to nature, walk, ride bikes, play football and climb trees. The weather is getting warmer and consequently boys are looking forward the summer holidays before start a new school year and a secondary school.

Something I've discovered is the importance of praise. When the children do well at school we make a big deal of it. When they've had a great week, behaved well, and helped around the house, they have the reward of their favourite pudding at the end. The look on their faces when they are congratulated for even the smallest of achievements means so much to them.

In our house it's ok to make mistakes, its ok to get things wrong and to feel that we will be judged or criticised too harshly. It's a safe place to be ourselves, to go to church or the supermarket dressed as Spiderman, a bit scruffy, rainbow coloured and hippie like or to dance and sing badly if that's how the mood takes us and know that nobody minds. We all know that the next set of challenges are only round the corner, but for now life is not too bad at all.