Would You Like Vomit With That?

Its been one of those weeks when just as I think everything’s quiet, BAM! there’s vomit on my shoes, down my top, on the new sofa, and yep…its in my tea.

this is the culprit


Fry, you bloody beautiful child.

why so much sick?

I admit he doesn’t much look like that photo at the moment. what with the pale eyes, black bags and vomit coming from him nose. (he must look like me)

last night I found out what rice pudding looks like coming back up, better than it fecking smells I can tell you that much.

its half term, its nice (ish) weather, and I can only look at freedom from behind my double glazed windows, which clearly need washing.


why when babies are sick, does their poo turn into watered down korma? I mean really? how many pyjamas were ruined during the making of this illness?

anyway, that’s where ive been/where im going.

head first back into the land of runny shit and vomit.

if anyone wants to bring my a full contamination suit it would be greatly appreciated.



parenting inspection.

this morning I have a home visit from Faces home school liaison.

its about dentistry and other tediously boring things.

so why on all of these visits, do I run around like someone’s lit my arse on fire, because my minds telling me that they will judge my parenting abilities on how clean my skirting boards are?

I swear this cant just be me, I can be the only one who over reacts on home visit day.

its like someone’s just flicked a switch in me that says these fuckers are here to judge me on every aspect of my life. Faces room has never been as clean as it is now, and I guarantee you they wont leave the lounge! but best to clean the upstairs light switches just in case right?

what are the chances they’ll look in my kitchen cupboards?

best alphabetize the soup.

Nazis, there home school liaison Nazis, must conform to every little detail my mind thinks of.

must turn the television onto the news channel and ignore the fact the cartoon network is usually on all day in our house.

put healthy snacks on the sideboard, hope they don’t see the disgusted look frys giving them.

speaking of fry, he needs a bath, is that a scratch on his face? oh god they’ll think I abuse him.

do I offer coffee? its rude not too, but then if I do I risk leaving them alone in my house where they could discover the dead body under the floorboards….

make myself a tea, relax, all the housework’s done, the kids are fine, everything’s going to be ok. its just a visit from people wanting some paperwork filled out.

just going to lock my sex dungeon…just incase..

Daddy issues part 2

well done government….well done…
*round of applause*
you’ve just cocked up yet ANOTHER benefit giving.

when my father walked into your offices for his “review” a few weeks ago, you should have asked yourself these questions.

does he need the money?

is he able to work for the money?

is he disabled?

does he need mobility?

what is he spending the money on?

how did he end up in this situation?

if any of these questions were PROPERLY assessed, I wouldn’t be pulling pins out of my gritted teeth and maybe, just fucking maybe the rest of the country wouldn’t have to suffer benefit cuts when your giving them willie-cunting-nilly to people who clearly don’t deserve them.

I had champagne on ice for the day to come when Father called me to say his benefits had been stopped.


yes, yes I am.

im heartless because we struggles as a family for so long, as a mother of a disabled child, as a mother of a child whos father was killed in the midst of the war on gun crime. as a mother who survived a stillbirth and as a family who work every hour under the sun to provide everything our children could ever want, and yet there are people out there like the sperm donor my mother chose after one hundred too many brandy and cokes, who put THEMSELVES into the position of needing help..

wait, that was phrased wrong,

the man needs help

like mental help,

like a quick swift boot up the arse to the job centre help.

like help to spend the benefits he is given for being “disabled” on fucking child support to the woman who raised us our whole lives.

oh CC, hes disabled, show some heart you say..


hes not fucking disabled, he was an abusive alcoholic for the majority of his adult life, DRINKING has caused all of his problems they are all fucking self inflicted…

balance problems (from being a wanker)

sight problems (from being a wanker)

flatulence problems….on the off time I go out with him…in crowded areas…every 5 fucking minutes you disgusting drunk (from being a wanker)

memory loss (from being a wanker)

have I mentioned hes a wanker?



you dickheads have given him a car…

A CAR???
what the fuck for??

to get to that job ..he doesn’t fucking have???

genius…that was a real 3 oclock in the morning decision.

we pay, for my alcoholic deadbeat father to

play archery 5 times a week

but all the latest bows and arrows

eat out at his favourite restaurant EVERY Wednesday!!

not have to attempt to get a job.


im putting the champagne back in the cupboard.

call me when you start paying the lazy cunts pension..


meow, meow

not the drugs…
you guys…




its a book!

(for those of you who don’t know what one looks like)

Face is reading it!

yeah you herd me, reading literature!…well its no works of plato but its a bloody start!

clearly we are only getting a response because its a cat book, one does love the felines.

I cant tell the school because we’re not meant to be encouraging his cat obsession, but fuck em ey, if it works why the hell not! anyway im being a proud mommy, who hasn’t had to listen to fucking echolalia for 10 minutes. its like being given a million pounds, or a date with per mertesacker (I have a bit of a football related crush, you giant fabulous man you)

here is how our bedroom routine looked today 😀



beautiful huh!

hope all you autism parents had a ace day!

im having a victory rolo desert….mmmm