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My boobs are not small, they are low fat.

~ Fridgesays ~ 45 Comments

Quote from an unknown petite chest, fab perspective lady.

Today my inspiration is all about boobs and my boob journey. I just got into bed and had an epiphany about life (as you do), so I began to type it out. It may be useful for breast feeding mums, but actually I’m hoping you’ll see it’s not about boobs at all.

When I was twenty-two years old I remember walking out of the doors of our local shopping centre with my Mum and I began the sentence with ‘when my boobs stop growing…’ she then interrupted and broke the news that they were done growing and what I had was all that was coming my way. I obviously knew this deep down but I guess the Disney princess in me was hoping for a extra handful, plus my Mum has more than her fare share so I was clutching on for some of her genes. Turns out I’m my Dads daughter and match his moob size.

Life went on and I learned about wonder bras and perfected scaffolding techniques that meant I now have a back up industry should I ever need a new career.

Then just when I was at my lowest they let me down by being amazing. After we came home from the hospital without our new bundle I was told that due to my emergency caesarean, stress and how long it had been I was unlikely to get any breast milk through. Mr F took me ‘home’ not to our house (too many baby items ready and waiting that I couldn’t bare to look at) but to my Parents. He surrounded us with love and my bestie came to stay over night. In the morning I woke and cried at the realisation that the nightmare we was living wasn’t a dream but our new reality. It was during this emotional outpour that my boobs exploded with milk. Useless milk that was too late, that meant my body didn’t know what my mind did…the baby had died, it didn’t need to be fed and I certainly didn’t need reminding. It was another stab and firm reminder that my body wasn’t my own. Luckily, it soon dried up and I have to say months after I was pretty proud that my fried eggs had it in them to produce milk. They worked.

Four years later we decided to ‘not try to try’ and have a baby. During this pregnancy it was worse, denial was my only hope of sanity as any interaction with the reality of ‘this could happen again’ was too much for my heart to cope with. I read nothing, I only went to appointments that I absolutely needed to and I worked as close to my due date as possible. Then I had my planned Caesarian (I already had the sunroof , why not use it?) and with a tug and a pull a healthy baby boy. With this came a new game plan: Get him home. In the UK this means approximately 3 days of monitoring and a lot of wee to produce for midwives that like to measure it by the pint. I have never drunk so much water in my life to satisfy there wee desires. My milk didn’t kick in straight away so we fed him with a little cup and some formula, I also breast fed – it began straight after he was placed on me for skin to skin contact and he literally sniffed by breast and attached himself; his Dad always gets good value at an all you can eat buffet, so I wasn’t that surprised. Did I know what I was doing? Hadn’t a fucking clue. If it hurt – I pulled him away, if it felt nice I let him stay until he had got bored. Now before we get into breast feeding Vs bottle formula, I couldn’t give a scooby doo, I had mission ‘Get him home’ everything else was irrelevant. I kept Midwife’s away by telling them what they wanted to hear, I kept my curtains closed and counting the sleeps down one by one. I even gave the scary cow machines a go (keep the Midwife’s happy) and expressed pretty much nothing. We continued to cup feed and I knew my boobs could do it.

We managed to get little dude home and then the next mission began: Keep him healthy for the next eighty odd years. Generally I breast fed and Daddy gave him one bottle a day. I kept the formula because it served three purposes – bonding for Daddy, a break for me and it also released some new mum guilt that I was producing by the bucket load of ‘if I’m not producing enough then at least he is getting something’, this is where the breast feeding journey should end but life’s a b*tch and just when you figure things out a new born likes to screw things up – he rejected my right breast. Apparently this is to do with me being left handed and how I was holding him, I then expressed the right, fed from the left and Daddy did his one evening formula…until I lost my sanity, expressing wasn’t for me, it felt totally unnatural and dull. It took over lives as I had to be near the express machine for every other feed which meant our house became my prison.

I then read an article about mums of twins who feed each baby on each breast (not sure how triplets do this?) and thought ‘screw you right express boob, I’ll just feed from the left’. And so until we introduced food this is what I did. The right boob dried up, he only drank from the left side of the bar and had one Daddy formula before bed.

Now to relate my boobs to life. I think if you over complicate things (breast feeding) then you’re likely to fail. I honestly didn’t know how to attach a child to my nipple – he did it himself. I went with the flow and made it work for me. I also scaffold those bad boys like Amazon packaging – the gift inside isn’t always as big as the box it comes it, so don’t be fooled by how people package their life, social media tells a lot of ‘amazon boxes’ and people like to post only the best of themselves, it doesn’t mean they are better than you or have anything worked out. I truly believe we are just winging it, day by day.

The human body is amazing. Seriously I made 2 tiny humans with 2 basic ingredients and a shed load of percentages against me. I’ve probabaly insulted my boobs more times than reality TV stars have told the truth and they fed my son regardless. I think we need to start loving ourselves and especially what we perceive as our flaws way more to be happy, healthy humans. Life (much like a new born) likes to throw a curve ball every now and then and we like to get stressed, frustrated and angry – when really we need to take a step back, breathe and may be a little like Dory and look for another direction to swim in.

So a toast, to boobs, moobs and the miracle of life! We can make it work, overcome anything thats put in our path, which I think its something seriously worth toasting. Stay blessed and if like me you have low fat boobs be grateful they are healthy.

I got my own back 

~ Fridgesays ~ 37 Comments

Quote from one of my favourite females, Maya Angelou

I’m an only child. There are myths that I was lonely, isolated and spoilt as a child because of just this ‘fact’. However, I was never lonely and was always allowed a friend for tea, or would take part in extra curricular activities in whatever my flavour of the month was (I’ve always lacked commitment). My parents lives revolved around me and I was spoilt with time and opportunities, when it came to material objects I was like every other child and had to wait until Christmas or birthdays, that said I don’t remember going without.

I loved being ‘just me’ and am truly grateful to my parents and family for all the wonderful memories we grew together and don’t panic, I was socialised and therefore can share should the occasion arise.

One of the things however that people don’t associate with only children is that I’ve got my own back. It’s an awesome skill that has given me resilience. I’m not saying siblings can’t have their own backs to; after all it’s your back to do what you like with it, right? That said I know many siblings whose relationships have bought hostility and also others with unity, again they can have their own backs or not. 

However for me personally growing without siblings has meant I have had to be my own competition, I set the goals and with heinsight I’m my own little team. I’ve also expanded my family with a few close friends who I know I can count on. I’ve always had just one very close friend and then people that surround that relationship. If I’m honest I’m very much a ‘people’s person’ who doesn’t really like humanity. As I have grown older I’ve definitely become picky about who is on ‘team fridge’ and many a human has had the fridge door shut in their face. Sometimes it’s warmer in the fridge without negative vibes.

Recently my son (only child on earth) was playing in our local park and his little friend was playing with some other children, the boy announced that my son couldn’t play with him. My heart ached for him. However, my robust little dude continued to play happily by himself and whilst I was watching and dealing with my own emotions, it was Mr F that pointed out that our little dude wasn’t bothered. Not convinced I obviously had a chat with him on the way home and I realised that he really wasn’t bothered, in fact he said “it’s okay Mummy, if ****** doesn’t want to play then he doesn’t have to.” That’s when I realised that my awesome little dude had his own back. Kids are harsh and our little dude is no more innocent or lovely that any other – humans are cruel, but being your own number one has got to be of benefit.

You are the only person that has experienced everything you have, been with you 24/7 – for better or worse. This is why self love is essential, it gives you a worth that will radiate to others, but if for any reason it doesn’t radiate – self love means it doesn’t matter what others think, you’ve got your own back.

Maya Angelou was such a wise human (there are a few) and her quotes are my all time favourites. I think the reason I like them so much is they remind me of things I’ve learnt but sometimes need reminding of, we all need that right?

If life has drained your self love to an all time low, why not pop this simple quote on your bathroom mirror, or somewhere near the front door. Its a timely reminder that you are awesome, just the way you are. It may also help your self love to increase – people often think this is egotistical or selfish, but actually by putting yourself first (at times) means you’re often a better version of yourself for loved ones around you. So this week make sure you are no.1 and you’ve got your back, it might just be the making of you. 

He can call me Flower if he wants to…

~ Fridgesays ~ 35 Comments

Quote from Bambi

Okay, so when you are ‘up the duff or ‘baking a bun in the oven or just plain ‘with child’ everybody likes to give you advice. It’s usually horrific advice where men tell tales of sleep deprivation and a loss of reality and women share intimate stories of vaginas and stitches (seriously, why has nobody told these women the phrase snitches get stitches?) because frankly when your bun / duff or child is growing inside you and you’re overwhelmed with hormones,the thought of impending responsibility FOREVER and feel the size of a house – you don’t want to hear any advice or the downsides of your situation, in fact this advice should be placed on the side of condoms packets.

When I joined the world of blogger-sphere I also learnt that every Mummy blogger has at least one blog on ‘new mum advice’ and every Dad has some army survival themed post on adjusting to life after birth or preparing for the big day. Not one to follow in the paths of others, I’ve avoided these posts like my son avoids holding a pen because I know that deep down no new parent really wants to hear what I have to say and frankly they’ll work it out.

UNTIL NOW.

If there is one piece of advice that nobody gave me, id want to know the details of what I went through this week because frankly Disney let me down. Regular reader will know that Walt is one of my Best friends and pretty much every Disney film offers me some form of advice in which I apply to my life and impose on you. 

Disney is my equivalent to Breakfast TV or the news, Disney is my go to, my google and my fountain of knowledge. Im constantly applying Mermaid philosophies to my studies, letting it go and loving like the beauty I am and the beast that Mr is when he hasn’t shaved  (I look past the prickles and try to visualise the man he was before he realised that razors are super expensive and beards are vaguely in fashion).

When raising little dude we have always encouraged Disney and he has a DVD collection to be proud of, his favourites are the Toy Story series and Car’s – our Goldfish are proudly named after key characters; Mater and Lightening McQueen and a relaxing afternoon in our home usually involves a Disney DVD, now here comes my advice to all parents, new, young, old or frankly lacking in Disney knowledge…

If you truly love your child more than life itself NOTHING GOOD CAN COME OF WATCHING BAMBI. (please read this like I’m shouting at you)

Forget ‘breast is best’ advice, what nappy you recommend, please pass this on to all new parents and i’ll tell the tale of the traumatised four year old and the Mum who f*cked up by trusting in a classic.

Firstly, Ive seen it before, I should of known better. When the hunter first tries to kill Bambi’s Mum (it came out in 1942 so I don’t feel like I’m throwing any spoilers into this) I was quick to tell him that Bambi’s Mum had died….only to see B’s Mum bounce off into a field, I was then branded a liar by my small child. Fast forward ten or so minutes and Bambi’s Mum does get shot. At this point my son looked at me, eyes fully dilated and brimming with tears screaming at me to tell him it wasn’t true…I was lost for words.
We then had to pause the DVD whilst I reassured him that his Mummy (yup me) wasn’t going to be shot anytime soon (its not in the insurance policy) and that the hunter lived far away and wouldn’t hurt any of his friends at preschool or our dog, fish, stick insects or African snails.

With the tears under control I pressed play on the remote (we call it a ‘magic’ in our house – because frankly a remote is like voodoo) and then a bush fire consumed the screen, with my son stuck to my face we watched as a racoon build a raft to a small island, we watched carnage run through our happy Disney place and all the while I was thinking what the hell am I doing to him? Seriously, a cute rabbit with a speech impediment and a giant thump doesn’t really make up for the neglect I had subjected him to. Nobody cares about ‘drip drip drop little April showers’ after Bambi is left traumatised in the snow.

The ending is happy, Bambi and his hot Deer Mumma Faline make Bambi twins, but even this confused him and he thought Bambi had been born again. He also asked how they made the baby Deer’s but frankly by this time I was still speechless and distracting him with chocolate bribery to protect his precious mind from the horror that is Disney’s Bambi.

So, don’t believe the certification of U that the film industry gave it, instead warn all parents everywhere, all Grandparents and anyone who is vague human…or perhaps a Deer (they wouldn’t like it either) to NEVER watch it. His Godmother hit it on the head when I was retelling her my traumatic Bambi failure “Actually there isn’t an age where anyone wants to see that, is there?” Nope, there is not wise Godmother that I selected for my precious bundle, nobody ever.

This is all my parental advice from two pregnancies, a four year old and way too many years of teaching teenagers. 

Best of luck. 

Embrace the glorious mess you are in.

~ Fridgesays ~ 28 Comments

Quote by Elizabeth Gilbert

I often write when the family has settled (AKA doing other things away from me) or I have some time to allow my thoughts to type themselves up – its true, I often haven’t a clue what I’m going to write about, I just have an urge to type or my head feels overwhelmed and there is an inbuilt need to ‘type it out’.

Today I feel overwhelmed to type and armed with a cup of green tea, my MacBook Air and a vase of pretty flowers my bestie bought me you’d think i’d be ready to write in solitude and Instagram greatness…look a few inches from my dining room table and my son has turned my living room into a scene from a horror film, Star Wars is blaring from our TV and chaos incapsulates my home as the kitchen looks like a bomb has hit it, Mr F is stomping around the home looking for something he has put down several days a go (I’ll give him a few more minutes of searching and then put him out of his misery, as I locate said item in thirty seconds with my inbuilt mother vision detective device; seriously I’ve got skills when it comes to finding lost socks, cufflinks or keys since giving birth).

My son has just interrupted me to ask me to read him a story. I stopped typing and read to him.

I read a lot about motivation, affirmations, letting go, manifestations and goal setting. Whilst I realise that to move on and up we need to visualise, make progress steps and surround ourselves with positive people, today Ive decided to embrace the chaos.

Letting go

Sure my entire home isn’t the way id like it, I hate my kitchen (new kitchen coming soon), there is often too much clutter and everything doesn’t have a place. Working full time means I don’t always have time to clean to the standard I would like and this can cause me to become anxious, although saying that I probably prioritise family over dusting if I did get a day for such things. Beyond the home, balancing work and play often gets befuddled and there are periods of time when the plates I’m spinning crash to the floor and slowly with the help of loved ones I brush myself off and pick up the pieces of plate scattered around me, often there is also a phase of life where there are sharp edges all over my life that I have to avoid stepping on – broken plates like life often throw a pointed edge into the mix. However, if I look at my living room and past the chaos, my son is happily playing in a giant box in the middle of his toys. The box is Gotham city and he is jabbering contently about Batman saving the city from ‘the clutches of the Joker’. I’m learning that if you let go over the negative, a positive scene is often playing out right before your eyes.

Im not adulting today

Growing up I thought that adults had it made, that they knew everything and had all the answers, its probably why we all step up the ‘growing up’ phase in the teenage years in hope to get to the good bit. Only to find its a trap.

Being an adult is a bit like a toddler in a pushchair; you spend your entire shopping trip trying to convince your parents to let you out of the chair and the rest of the trip trying to get someone to carry you or let you back in the chair for a comfy snooze. I am that adult trying to avoid making decisions, stepping away from responsibility and avoiding paying bills like the plague.

Every now and then I allow myself a day or a few hours from being an adult, today is that day. My son can eat chocolate for every meal if he wants and the house chores can wait until tomorrow. I may prioritise painting my nails and I will certainly be wearing stretchy clothes because I am bound to also eat far too much chocolate and the extra elastic will help. I will drink far too much tea and may play some of my vinyls too loud. I will play with my son the games he wants me to play, even though I haven’t a clue about ‘The force’ or the galaxies he finds delight in.

I will submerge into the now and let go of the routine… tomorrow I’ll adult and use ‘The Force’ that I’ll learn about later today to clean this place up to an adult standard, tomorrow I will discipline and create structure…but today I will let go and enjoy the glorious mess that life has given me, I’ll choose to see through the mess and enjoy the moments of sparkle.

Now lets put that kettle on…

Exercise is therapy 

~ Fridgesays ~ 18 Comments

Quote unknown. 

Before you think I’m preaching in this post…I’m once again writing by the side of the pool whilst the boys swim – so I am no Lycra maniac or green kale chick addicted to spin classes and lifting weights that are…well, heavy. 

I use to like the odd aerobic class before my little dude was born and have always had membership to a gym or taken part in something, but in all honesty I prefer a swim and sauna than anything too strenuous. That said, I left that life behind after motherhood…I already work full time away from my boy and don’t wish to miss anymore of his moments due to my need to look slimmer on a beach and peddle in circles like a hamster caught in a wheel. 

Little dude is now four years old and in September 2016 I felt it was time to find some movement and motivation for me. Some me time and something that wasn’t for the working me, the mummy me, the family me but just me. This is when I found my therapy.

I couldn’t find a class that suited by timetable or didn’t interfere with family time so I have private 1-2-1 classes of yoga on a Sunday morning before the world wakes that suit my needs. It’s expensive but worth it. It is my therapy and I know this because when I can’t go or my instructor can’t attend – my world is a little dim, my Monday morning is a little more intense and I lose me in a world of demand and needs by others. 

Walking the dog is another one im partial too, especially as we can do this as a family. We have a Labrador and last night the sun was out so she even walked us to the local pub for a summer toast. What a thoughtful pooch. 

Exercise is a form of therapy, it makes you feel good and tighten your core. I find yoga keeps me free of health issues and allows me to challenge certain muscles to perform certain moves. However, I think you have to find the style that works for you, otherwise giving up is easy and as I said family time is precious to waste. 

I’d love to know how others find their therapy? Comment in the box about how you make exercise work for you… 

One day…

~ Fridgesays ~ 61 Comments

Quote unknown

When I grow up I want to be a Mermaid. I blame Ariel and Eric, oh and Sebastian the crab (lobster?) well you get the idea. 

I love swimming and brushing my hair, I have a great collection of both bikinis and shells…Unlike The Little Mermaid I’m thinking ‘down there where it’s wetter’ may be more ideal. (No innuendo intended) 

I do like to eat seafood which may mean I’m a little friendless but ultimately I feel I have both the skill and capacity for taking my new lifestyle to the next level. 

So one day I will be a Mermaid, what am I waiting for? Why delay? Well, I’m actually waiting for techno dudes to stop concentrating on fighting deadly virus’s and creating sustainer villages, iPhone 800’s and such to focus on building me a fin. Several years ago there was a craze to crochet mermaids tails, my mum said she would give it a go for me but I’m not sure a fabric that isn’t water proof is what I’m looking for in my attempt to be ‘Part of that World’ long term. 

If you think I’m being ridiculous then you’ve misunderstood the tone of my post, one day I will be a Mermaid. When I was four I decided I wanted to be a Teacher. I would line my dolls and teddies in lines and take the register for hours in preparation…an education and a degree later and I MADE IT. 

However, perhaps if this is ‘day one’ I really should think about some of the obstacles in my current life and try tackling them, after all we all need a plan. Plus you can’t always trust in technology taking its time, what if my fin arrives sooner than expected? Firstly, I wrinkle in water – Arial seemed wrinkless in the 90 minute animation, so perhaps I could increase my wrinkle cream rountine and take longer baths in preparation. (Tick)

Also, I’m not a fan of being cold – so family move to a hot climate with tropical sea conditions may be necessary. I’ve just asked Mr F about this and although keen on a warmer climate I feel he isn’t taking the move seriously, I could be wrong but the sentence construction he just used involved many blue words not found in the dictionary and ended with ‘are you still talking’.

Whilst I get him use to the global migration of our family I’ll tackle another issue – I’m not keen on getting my hair wet. Yes, I am that blonde in the pool who over stretches her neck and gives children evil glances for even thinking of splashing her with the liquid she is surrounded in. I’ve watched the Disney classic again and from what I can see in or out of the water Arial has the same insanely gorgeous hair, so perhaps this comes with the fin? Like a bolt on can for phone contracts… (half tick)

Still reading and thinking I’m insane…no more insane than you if you have a dream and today isn’t your ‘day one’, leave the ‘one days’ to Disney and make those dreams happen. 

Grow through what you go through 

~ Fridgesays ~ 32 Comments

Quote Unknown.

I didn’t write this post to share, it’s been sitting in my draft folder and it’s not exactly my usual style of glitter and sparkle.

I’ve had a few weeks off of the blog, mainly just balancing myself out and dealing with life. Blogging is fabulous, but it’s always an extra effort for me and being the CEO and cleaner means I take time off when I need it. I wrote this post for cathartic needs just before the UK celebrated Mother’s Day…enjoy x 

I feel sad. I don’t usually…I can’t work out why I feel like this and it’s been going on for more days than I wish to count. I thought it might be because I had a bit of a cold around me, but that can’t be true because despite being a tiny tot of 4ft11 my immune system is 7ft thanks to being at school for over thirty years. It’s half way through term so I thought it might be that, but the light of spring mornings means the weight of work isn’t so heavy…

And then it dawned on me.Mothers day. Since 2009 I’ve hated this day. I wasn’t a huge fan before; it’s fake much like valentines and all the other days the gift world, flower companies and card manufacturers like to celebrate by lining their pockets. This one is the worst, my least favourite. 

After my daughter died this day felt empty. My eyes opened to every person who has lost their Mum, been bought up without their Mum, adopted, split families, missing families because of living abroad, dysfunctional families – frankly just not being able to hug, kiss or buy an over priced card for her. I also realised that due to the inevitability of death, we all would experience this pain at some point. The day seems sour. For Dads I guess the same would go for Father’s Day…

I thought having my son would feel the Mother’s Day void – it doesn’t. It just reminds me of what I’ve missed. Today he came home with some seeds in a pot and a homemade card (thanks Nursery) and I realised I should of received one of these already by now, grief sapped the joy and left me holding a pot of soil. He will start school in September, Gracie should be eight by then, so I should be a school run Mum pro…but I’m not, I haven’t a clue and until much nearer the time I shall live in a state of denial. 

Greiving is endless and it never stops. It doesn’t get easier and nothing can replace, alter or change our situation. You do enter a club – it’s a special death club, entry is something nobody in the club signed up for and it comes with a life time membership card and not so much as a free pen. Your only positive is you are able to help or ease others who join the club after you, be it through illness or miscarriage…helping others and understanding is my only reward. 

Other reasons I hate Mother’s Day include the fact you can’t escape it. Adverts on TV, pubs will bill boards outside, supermarkets with dedicated isles…you can’t even go out for a meal to escape it – not even mothers with children can book tables on this day.

You can stay inside but then you feel like your hiding. I couldn’t even buy my own amazing Mum a card for several years after my daughter died – this was mainly due to being scared of entering the shop without needing years of therapy, or crying on a Saturday girl who had an orange line of foundation around her face and in my own sadness saying something about it umongst the tears and endless snot, not to mention the hideous hyperventilating breathing. So I didn’t buy the card and she understood and never questioned. This is what makes her the best Mum in the universe and this is why I celebrate Mother’s Day nearly everyday of the year by calling her and ending each call with ‘love you bye’… keep your over priced roses, your posh choccies and a Mug that says ‘Mum’ I’m going 80s Maureen Lipman style /BT adverts – just call her because you can, if you are blessed to be able to.


It’s up to you…

~ Fridgesays ~ 27 Comments

Quote by Anon.

The worst part of growing up for me is responsibility. It’s inevitable and it means you have to ‘own’ your actions. This seems easy enough but usually feels like hard work.

I remember walking out of hospital with my new born bundle and wondering why nobody was questioning me, where was the security, the paperwork? Seriously it’s harder work to go through airport security and I had more paperwork when I recently bought a new kettle. I got home and looked at his sleepy face and realised this was forever… ouch, that’s some serious responsibility. (I probably should of been more aware of this during the pregnancy but I’ve never been the sharpest tool in the box)

On Friday one of my chicks lost her shizzle…her words were something along the lines of ‘Being happy is hard work’ and I’d have to agree. I’m a half full glass kind of lady and I need to make something clear to all glasses, cups and China implements. On behalf of all cheerleaders, positive people, glass half full, over full and anything on the side of joy…we have days that suck too. However, I guess I’m a little quicker to pick myself up and much more resilient in looking at the world around me and finding some joy to grip to when the darker days hang over me. As a result I may be guilty of making positive vibes look easy…it’s not. It’s a decision I make multiple times a day. To see the silver linings and not look at them as grey. It’s all about perception and an internal battle to stay happy.

How? Instagram helps me to post physical photos and capture them in what I hope becomes an album of positive vibes. I sometimes then look through the photos on darker days and it instantly lifts my universe. Especially the selfies 🙂

This was my latest photo and you can follow me @fridgesays for lots more like it. This was even a #nofilterneeded , get me and my iPhone camera!

I do a similar thing on Pinterest, it’s like going shopping and collaborating lots of gorgeous items without the price tag, although one day it would be nice if a few of those lovely images jumped into my wardrobe.

I keep a gratitude journal that helps me to keep centred and I love reading it back to myself. I also keep a ‘get done’ book, where I list mainly household chores that need a magical wand over them and then I tick them off with love and sparkle.

But honestly, mostly I stay mindful and make a CHOICE to stay positive. To smile, to compliment others and to stay as sunny as I can be. Why do I bother? I guess mainly it’s my preferred natural state to be in but also I want to be upbeat for others to see, experience and be part of.

We live to experience. If I’m flat out on a tropical beach or popping items in my trolley at the supermarket, I’m always going to make a choice to experience the best it can offer – no matter the task at hand. I don’t win everyday, and certainly not every moment but the internal battle to keep my glass half full and even sneak a few extra drops is at the top of my ‘get done’ list everyday.

How do you stay positive during the day?

I’m nicer when I like my outfit 

~ Fridgesays ~ 44 Comments

Quote Anon.

Ouch, this quote is like the truth jumped out and smashed me in the face. It’s true, I’m a little shallow and I like nice things.

When I’m ill I do something odd; I wear my best pjs and indulge where I can; sleep in fresh linen, soak in a hot bath and depending on how poorly I am, I’ve been known to paint my nails or whack on a face pack because baggy jogging bottoms and old pjs make me feel worse.

For work I have the opportunity to wear ‘office clothing’ and I indulge in one awesome designer outfit every year. It’s meant I’ve now built up a wardrobe that makes me feel confident. Many people don’t like to spend money on work clothes but for me, this is where I spend most of my time, and it makes sense I want to be the best version of me most of the time. This of course doesn’t mean that the more expensive your clothing the better human you are…but for me, I am nicer when I like what I’m wearing.

The only thing I hate about this quote is the word ‘nice’ it really should stay on the side of a biscuit. So if I could I’d rewrite it to say ‘when I like my outfit I’m always kinder, more thoughtful and react to situations better’ I would.

Recently I went ‘out out’ with a friend for food, wine and gin, well a lot of gin. We are blessed to be neighbours, so on a Friday evening we left the hubbies with the kids and hit the big lights of…our village pubs. This meant the hassle of cabs or not driving was taken away and we could focus on being together. With great company you always have a good time, regardless of venue and actually we are blessed with some nice places to drink and eat in our tiny corner of the world. However, I wore a dress. It was a leather and fabric combo from Ted Baker and I added some killer heel ankle boots and my new leather (well pretend to be leather) jacket from Topshop for the occasion. I knew the rest of the pub would be wearing hoodies, jeans and there was even a man who was obviously a painter and decorator for a living who had come straight from work. I felt fabulous and didn’t really care about being over dressed – I was in the heavenly colour of black so felt I didn’t stand out like an Alsatian in a poodle palour, plus I rarely go out since being blessed with the little man and therefore felt it was necessary to enjoy getting ready.

Sometimes fashion is my armour to the world. People look at you and make judgements, sometimes I may hide behind a chunky scarf or may reveal all in a show stopper dress, these are my decisions and help me to tackle the world around me, I stopped caring what others thought of me in about 2001, so its more about my mental well being. If Ive got a busy day – a classic dress that makes me feel gorgeous is my go to, if its the first day back at school and I know I’m going to spend most of it wondering what my little dude is doing at Pre-school without me, then only a new pair of heels is going to get me through until pick up time.

Another aspect that I adore is throwing clothes out, in fact throwing anything out; even objects that aren’t mine, yes I really enjoying binning Mr F’s items. He rarely notices and Im just not sentimental. Going to an over flowing draw, tipping it out and chucking most of it in a donation bag literally makes me smile from ear to ear. I totally recommend this because its cheaper than therapy, makes you feel fantastic and the bonus is that others benefit from your yesterday jumpers, jeans or that bag that you bought when you were hungover and lacking judgement.

Clothing is a fantastic way to accessorise your identity, your mood or perhaps affirm who you would like to be. I rarely get my hair done these days, but a half head of highlights makes me feel cleaner (I think its the lack of dark roots) and more confident. I also live for a trim with a blunt line that makes my hair look loved. We all need pamper time. As regular reader will know Sunday nights for me are nails, face mask and luxury bubble bath in my house, should a glass of something fizzy join me then I sip it with delight. On a serious note, we all need time to pamper ourselves, we are worth it and need to step back from the hassle of life and if it sounds shallow then I make no apologies because I am nicer when I love my outfit, when I feel good and the triple bonus is that those around me spend time with a better version of me.

Whats your go to for a quick emotional pick me up?

As for my girls, I’ll raise them to think they can breathe fire 

~ Fridgesays ~ 69 Comments

Quote by Jessica Kirkland.

Sometimes I write a post in my sleep and wake up with an urge to get it typed up. This is one of those posts as this quote spoke to my soul.

I am a human, a member of a race that I’m mostly ashamed of. I choose not to be a feminist because categories breed further division and I don’t wish to be equal due to my vagina disability. I was born like it, apparently just under half the worlds population similarly suffer from it. It doesn’t hold me back and I do believe that it shouldn’t nor should it let anyone else, although I’m not naive to know that this is not the case for all women. I’m raising a son to respect humans, animals and the world around him – the world is crying out for loving. Gender is mostly irrelevant – if he wants to paint his nails, he can. I couldn’t give a crap about blue or pink toys and I’m happy to be the bread winner in my tribe, I’ve breast fed in public and I don’t need a trophy for this, however before I get truly ‘ranty’ this isn’t what I liked to discuss, ranting is too easy and negative.

For regular Fridge readers you’ll know that my first step into motherhood began with the birth of a baby girl. She was too precious for this earth and quickly fled for greater things. However, before she left we had some precious time together and she branded me a ‘Mummy’. I loved it and always will.

Before I knew I was pregnant, I went for a job at an all girls school. I got the job, then found out I was pregnant and had an awkward email to write which when something along the lines of ‘I’d love the job…by the way’ and I’ve been at the same school since 2009.

Part of my title is ‘Nurture Teacher'(seriously cool title) and it translates as many things but also allows me to help heal a lost teenage soul, who is going through a traumatic time or has been damaged due to life delivering them a hard hand earlier in life. This quote resonates with my 9-5 life. I see potential and sparkle in everyone of my girls. They are each unique and whether they are dealing with mental health issues, stuck in the system of being a looked after child or simply grieving for a loved one, we ride together through the pressures of academic attainment and the triumphant and tragic events that daily life brings.

It’s a privilege that they let me in when many doors to their very beings are closed. Like all members of staff, I have an ID tag and it states my name, job title and amongst it the word ‘Teacher’. I wear it with pride (and because Health and Safety dictate I have to) and ive realised that my classes often misunderstands the concept of a teacher – someone who will guide or do things for them, tell them or help them when times are tough. They miss the word ‘each’ hidden in the word, probably consumed by the towering T in front. To me, it means each one matters and each one has something to teach me about this crazy world. You see I would never have understood how rejection can consume, mental health can debilitate families and disorders that involve food – be it too little or too much can poison families to collapse…

But my girls can breathe fire. I remind them to turn each day around and I teach them all the things I will never have the honour of being able to teach my own daughter. To hold their heads high, to kick ass in academic challenges; especially GCSE’s which will open new doors for them beyond my classroom and watchful eye.

My girls can do anything they wish to dream, go anywhere they chose to fly – they are fierce but not because society has labelled them ‘female’, not because we are still battling for equality but because my 16 years old girls have already been through tragic events, overcome them and are better for it, otherwise whats the point if you don’t learn from the journey. The fire in them burns deep and I truly believe in all of them, each and everyone.

Sadly, some will be consumed by the fire and won’t make it out of the ashes, others will do okay and make do, which is perfectly fine with me – after all Im not present in their lives to dictate their destination. However, ever few years I get the privilege of working with a pupil who has so much potential it ignites my own fire. I know that however fragile they might be in this very moment with hard work and a clearer perspective, wonderful moments are just around the corner for them.

If you have the privilege or being a Mother to a child – no matter what colour, creed or gender – don’t let them ‘think’ they can breathe fire…show them how its done and tell them they already can.