Tag: dailylife

A Letter to my Mum…

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I know you shouldn’t only appreciate people on a certain day, but I have a cold hearted and emotionally reserved persona to up keep in regards to my family. So for this mothers day only (and you’re only getting this once mom so I dunno, copy and paste it, print it out and frame it if you have to) I will give you the gift of cringiness and honesty. All those face mushes and ‘why don’t you show me affection. I LOOOOVE YOUUU’ whines when you’ve had one too many glasses of prosecco have come down to this post. And only on this post can I express my love and gratitude because quite frankly I have at least 24 hours before I have to face you with embarrassment.On Friday the 13th October you had a visit from the dreaded midwife who continues to call me ‘scrawny’ and together you joked that because it was the day of the devil, on week 34 out of 40 in your pregnancy, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if she came today.’

Well, the day of the devil it was.

You stepped out of the car into the carpark to go to your antenatal appointment, like I

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have since done in that very place, when your placenta separated completely from your uterus. This is called a placenta abruption and can be life threatening to both mother and baby.

Although you woke up days later, being bathed by some old fuddy nurses after blood transfusions and life saving treatments, you was now baby-less. But like a bad scent ever since, I was merely lying in an incubator with cotton wool on my knees making all the midwives wish theyd never met the emergency premature 666 child you had traumatically and unconsciously brought into the world.

We were never a well off family and I didn’t mind, you would spend days making angel delight or jelly with me as if it was some gourmet baking when realistically Luna could probably do it if it weren’t for the fact she doesn’t have opposable thumbs. And mom, sorry but you’re cooking hasn’t improved since, you’re the only person who manages to burn super noodles, but I love it. I love that you served my previous boyfriends raw vegetables so they had to eat it politely and I love that you are so in denial to cooking

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instructions because ‘you know best’ because it is what makes you, you. I can’t wait for my child to say ‘I hope grandad cooks because nanny’s food is horrible’ like every grandchild is supposed to say.

One Christmas, dad had lost his job and you had been ill all year, I didn’t understand what mental health was, I didn’t understand how a person can struggle because you didn’t let me see the hardships. I thought you were feeding me frozen sausages and frozen sweetcorn because you just wanted me to never develop a palette, when all my friends got green giant sweetcorn with its sugary canned taste or butchers special sausages. I didn’t know that a person could be unhappy because you always laughed when I said 1051 was

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my favourite number (I still don’t get why that’s funny) or I (very out of tune) composed a rendition of the cuckoo clock song in the sound of music, because I didn’t know that one could smile but be in so much pain then. On that Christmas you had warned us we had no money and not to be disappointed, (I knew santa wasn’t real obvs ,but alex still believed) we made m&m cupcakes for ‘santa’ because I was a fussy eater and despite the fact you wanted mince pies, you let me have my way, and we watched shrek lying on our first ever brand new sofa (that alex immediately dropped cake icing down), until alex went to bed and you let me eat all the m&m cakes. But that morning, you still handed us mountain after mountain of presents, I got exactly what I wanted that year and more, despite the fact I now know we couldn’t afford it and you had to go without so much for yourself.

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When we got a little older, you were still really ill and getting worse, I was starting to understand a little that there was this thing called depression, but I was ignorant and I didn’t understand. I thought you were just crazy and moaning all the time, enjoying arguments. I remember we went on a family trip to Ikea and the whole journey we were rowing, you and dad, you and me, we were screaming louder than we did when skindred came on and youd hide down whilst me, dad and alex blew whistles out the window on the motorway to the song in embarrassment. When we finally got out the car after you had stopped screaming you immediately fell over the curb and face planted the floor. I found it hilarious and im ngl im laughing thinking about it now but you got back up and strutted off not letting it phase you and you were a boss.

I remember when I came home from pontins and I was moody with you because you

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explained you were ill because of stress and I thought it was fake. Stress? Whats stress?

When I was 16 you sat with me in a box room covered in white walls and listened as I explained I wanted to take my own life by swallowing lots of pills to some random woman. I knew then what you had suffered all those years and what I had ignorantly begrudged you of in those hard times. I had begrudged you a you. I hadn’t sat in the room letting you explain how you feel without judgement, I hadn’t held you when you were sad and I hadn’t said it was because you were ill you were acting out of character and then helped you get better, I hadn’t been there for you like you were for me. You let me sleep in your bed every night so I didn’t panic, even though it was the only real time you got to be with dad and you gave up all your days to look after me and make sure I was okay, watching repeats of shitty channel 5 films.

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You come with me to every hospital appointment even when I don’t want you to come, youre just so stubborn and even when I don’t know I’m ill you always do and you help, even when I push you away.

I was a child and couldn’t give that to you but I want to say that if I could go back, I would, and maybe we wouldn’t have lost so many years to the illness we both struggled with.

When I was 18 and I had gotten involved in drugs and alcohol we hated each other, we couldn’t live under the same roof because I didn’t understand what the problem was. I’m 18 I can come home at whatever time I want, in whatever state I want and with whoever I want. And I can categorically say that my child aint ever touching alcohol. And sex? Nope, they are gonna be virgins for life if I have anything to do with it. So in hindsight, I know I was troublesome and you weren’t really an evil bitch, you were just a mother. My mother.

Despite the fact we didn’t get on you still let me cry on your shoulder and ordered me a

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dominoes when I split up with my boyfriend. You let me make my own decision to go back to him even though you knew he was bad because it was what I wanted and when he hurt me again you didn’t say I told you so, instead you encouraged me to get back out there. You even suggested I went on tinder and would be my back up on a date, which back then I would’ve rather died than take my mom as a back up.

Since then I grew up.

Since then, even though you embarrass me when I come home to find the front door open and you passed out drunk on the floor, when you feed my fat dog human food against my will or when you put your feet up on my sofa with your dirty boots still on I wouldn’t change it.

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Since then you have become my bestest friend. I can talk to you about anything and you make me laugh, I don’t understand how we ever disliked each other because right now you are my favourite person in the world. You lost your mum young but you still became the perfect mother without any guidance and my life would never be the same if it weren’t for the things you did for me or the way you brought me up. So because of you I am able to be an amazing mom to my child.

I hope my child doesn’t end up hiding in the car when I face plant the pavement on boldmere highstreet and let strangers help me up whilst they duck down as if to say ‘that ain’t my mom’ or tell me the rapids aren’t fast and then laugh at me as I nearly drown.

But I hope that my child has a mom like you.

We never saw eye to eye but you are my best friend and I cannot wait for you to be a grandparent and keep saying ‘god you’re just like me’ or telling me off for disciplining my child. I can definitely wait for all those ‘I told you so’s’ and karma coming back to hit me as my child puts me through all the things i put you through.

So happy mothers day momma, I love you lots. You are my hero, my best friend and my mom.

P.s. We don’t ever speak of this post again.

xxxx

me and mom

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‘Not Social Media Perfect’

I’ve been trying to start a post for about a week now but I’m so easily distracted by the stupidest things I’ve somehow found hours past and yet no post written. I didn’t want ‘blogging’ to be a chore but as my Instagram and blog have progressed, it has become more of a business/money opportunity (which I am grateful for don’t get me wrong) and thus the hobby has turned into more of a job and well, we all know how shit I am at actually sticking at jobs…

However, 2017 offered me the amazing opportunity to turn my Instagram and blog into a small business and with that I have learned just how difficult it is to live in this ‘blogosphere, perfect lifestyle.’ I am pleased to have developed into the place I am now and hope I can continue to do what I enjoy doing, but I have to acknowledge and take my hat off to every other ‘blogger’ out there. Keeping up the ‘perfect social media life’ is more of a job than you expect it to be. You think it all sunshine and happiness, waking up to the perfect latte with an aesthetically pleasing pattern on the top and a bunch of flowers to place beside for a ‘just woke up’ Instagram shot. Followed by a brand-new delivery of clothing to wear for your ‘ootd’ and then a trip around the town snapping various locations and overpriced meals before you settle back down in some fluffy bed socks to post all about your amazing day on your brand new apple mac.  

Well in reality, it’s winter in England, and you know what that means? It means a disturbing lack of natural light followed by rain, rain, horrific wind and more rain. Any chance of a vibrant picture is a lot harder to recreate when you’re an amateur and mother nature doesn’t want you to go outside. As for the coffee, if I want it, I gotta make it myself so any attempt at a delicate latte art ends up looking like a mushed up version of luna’s turds, not to mention coffee gives me the shits anyway. And receiving promo products everyday? Nope, if you want something you gotta wait for days until you’re lucky enough to be noticed and then you have to spend a further week negotiating with them how you deserve more than a 10ml tester in return for a whole advertising package. The perfect social media life doesn’t exist, I for one wouldn’t class myself as a serious blogger, i don’t own an expensive DSLR, nor do I go location searching in a party outfit to get a good fashion shot and then spend another 5 hours editing it on photoshop because I cant deal with the bags under my eyes. But a lot of your favourite bloggers do. Turning a blog or an Instagram into a business is hard work, the whole con of making money on social media is the concept of illusion. Trying to make your life look amazing is the hardest job of all because nobody is perfect. I for one, am one of the laziest people I know, it is my biggest downfall and do you know how hard it is to complete a job when you’re lazy af? No, but seriously, if you like someone’s Instagram, or their blog post, whether they are a high flying social media star or they post every month as part of a hobby, let them know you like it, let them know you support their work because it is just like any other job, it takes hard work and a lot of effort to achieve the final ‘product’ that you see.

This all sounds like im complaining about it, which I’m not trying to do because I love where I am right now. I love that I am able to pick and chose my work and still have time to binge watch Netflix or that I can work as hard or as little as I like in-between napping like a god. But the first part of wanting to be a ‘blogger’ is stepping back and accepting that it is all an illusion, it is all fake and at the end of the day it is just work and work most commonly turns boring in the end.

So with that said, I intend to start a whole new series, thanks to a fellow blogger, Maddie, who writes and owns Mind A Moment Blog, she encouraged me when I was feeling like I didn’t have much more to give because my life isn’t social media perfect. This series is going to be ‘Not Social Media Perfect’ because I make good content when i’m not massively faking it, when I’m being my lazy self and living a great but ridiculously normal lifestyle. Maddie reminded me to focus on the things I have actually achieved at 22 and how I should be proud to share them with you, not the perfect make up deals or the incredibly fake advertisements which you mainly see on my Instagram because that is my job. Is anybody actually their job? Your job is only one persona and in this new series ‘Not Social Media Perfect’ I will be sharing (when I want to – not forcing anything) tips for real life, share my stories of my boring normalities and take you on a (probably dull) journey from Chloe Dawson, teenager, who started social media in her box room at her parents, to Chloe Dawson, adult, who now earns money on social media, has a mortgage and is starting a family but in the most unglamorous truthful way it is, in its entirety.

We Bought A House

So, by the title of this it’s pretty obvious what this little update is going to be about; moving out. It’s been 9 months…not that I’ve been counting every treacherous day being in a conservatory or anything…but we are finally at the day we are leaving what can only be described as what life would be like living in the blitz. I don’t mean that mom and dad are Nazi’s (just to clarify – debateable to Alex probably) but one minute you’re trying to sleep with the sun blazing through your eyelids in a sauna to thunderous bangs of rain on the top of a conservatory roof, wind blowing all the trees onto the windows and a blinding car light every few seconds waking you up like someone’s just shone an interrogation torch into your corneas. Needless to say, I cannot wait for a solid brick wall and a real roof.

I’d be lying if I said I won’t miss being back at home I mean I actually have to make my own cups of tea now, but it’s going to be quite lonely not being woken up at 4am as Alex comes back from some Chav bar, slamming all the doors and complaining about her lack of money despite the fact she has about £300 on her eyelids. I won’t be able to come home to find the front door wide open and my parents passed out on the floor or watch as dad gets so drunk he thinks it’s funny to start setting off paint grenades in the garden or forcing me to sniff chilli until I cry. I won’t have the power of mom to rule the tv for me every time I want to watch EastEnders or go on secret shopping trips where we end up pretending to be sophisticated ladies of leisure drinking prosecco in the middle of the day with john and dad’s bank cards. Then Margo, (who obviously I’ll miss the most) I won’t get to cuddle up to because homeLuna’s the only dog to ever hate affection or have her wipe her bloody bits over my sheets when I’ve just changed them or hump every object I own. I will miss home but knowing me I’ll be back haunting them all every weekend.

First of all, I’ve never known hell like buying a house. It has taken almost 5 months and a shit ton of money to get to the day we can finally move all the crap we (John) have hoarded. We found the house after finding what we thought was the perfect 2 bed home on a quiet road just on the Boldmere/Erdington border but when making an offer of the asking price we got rejected a mortgage. I’ve decided that for the rest of my life I am looking after my credit score more than my own life because one payment of £65 on an old Nokia phone that john lost on my 19th birthday in a drunken gay bar, lost us that house. £65.00 almost 3 years ago. I cried for hours and hours and the struggle for saving enough money for a house the same price was practically impossible, especially when to get a mortgage now we needed 15% deposit rather than the standard 10%, but as a believer that things are meant to be sometimes, it meant we found our house now. When I was in a major strop thinking id be stuck at moms forever being forced to watch Judge Rinder, I looked at houses on the market along the Birmingham train line. A house came up 0.1miles from the train station for cheaper than any house we had been looking at here in Birmingham, it just meant travelling around 10 more minutes to Birmingham centre than we were already doing from Sutton. We travelled to Burton upon Trent kind of defeated, thinking it would be pointless but nonetheless it was an easy way for john to get out of work early. But on the train we started into the countryside and I was just in awe. We looked around the house and it was huge in comparison to what we had been looking at for a higher price, 3 beds and a bathroom as big as the master bedroom, two reception rooms, a hallway, a modern(ish) kitchen, a utility and a large garden, we just fell in love. It didn’t matter that we were 20 miles away from home because the house just felt perfect. We took a whim after talking to our advisor and solicitor and offered under the asking price on the grounds the garden had no grass and there was no parking, and they accepted. I thought now y’know you sign the contract, you hand over the deposit, you get the keys, but no. It has taken so many weeks, so many signatures, searches, surveys, declarations, everything (none of which are free mind) until we have finally got the keys. It has been soul destroying, I didn’t even realise that a mining search was a thing or that you can’t be a homeowner without taking out life insurance? (Not that I’m complaining I mean I’ve watched enough crime documentaries to be able to kill john off now for a healthy profit) but honestly, I’ve never been so drained of words I have no idea the meaning of or money for someone just nodding a head in my life.

salesignThe town we are moving to is small, known as the national forest and on the river Trent, the house is in the town centre next to the church and a farmers’ market every Sunday, 5 minutes from the river Trent and more importantly a giant shopping centre. I’m so happy with the area, not knowing much about it before we took a chance and made an offer but it has definitely paid off. Jaiden loves it and I’ve already taken him to the college there, trying to convince him that it’s the best college in the world and he must attend as a matter of life or death. The house is next door to a café which sells cream teas so I know what I’ll be doing in the daytime and then a traditional old man pub (Like the good old anchor) at the end of the road which no doubt ill spend half my time looking for john in when he hasn’t returned home from work. 

I know a lot of you that follow me are first time buyers also and are into interior design so I plan on doing a post about the house once we have moved in to show you all, but right now there is half ripped up floor and wallpaper, (I’m too impatient to wait till we are actually in to get shit done) boxes everywhere and just junk from like the 1980’s john has decided he must keep.

I never know how to end posts so I’m just gonna put a disclaimer now that most of them are gonna just end abruptly to avoid me sitting here pondering over how to end it.

xo

Weekly Ramble #1

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Although i have no idea how this blog post is going to turn out i’m just going to write and see what words follow, there is no purpose to this whatsoever it’s just been so long since i had written a post i felt like if i didn’t it’s one more thing i’ve been too lazy to do. Besides, i’ve got john’s mac and it makes me feel much more sophisticated and fit the persona of a ‘writer’ when i get to use it.

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Nothing much has changed in the past few weeks, still house hunting and although we’ve found one that’s perfect we are having issues with the legal side of things and so i think we’re going to have to let that one go. Why is buying a house so complicated and img_20170122_095829_683expensive? Especially when we find one that’s just right and some other dickhead turns up with more money and decides to steal it, like bitch i’d already planned my colour scheme for the bedroom. So besides failing at buying a house and being too poor to afford to go out i’m sat with the dogs with ear plugs in like an old woman as the rain falls (EXTREMELY LOUD) onto the conservatory roof – which is my bedroom – wishing i’d just stayed in kings heath. But it’s not all bad because although i enjoy my own company i like the fact that i img_20170128_123234_406don’t have to sit on my own everyday and when my sister is off i have an excuse to watch shit tv shows i’m too proud to admit i secretly like, so when john comes home and thinks wtf i can blame my poor tv choices on her and it’s easily plausible. As a 21 yr old who’s planning on buying a home and having a kid i can’t be publicly seen watching ‘Victorious’ and singing along to the songs, declaring my love for Ariana Grande.

img_20170127_134523_692However, on another note, if Luna wasn’t bad enough when she was in season, constantly humping everything and costing us hundreds of pounds, i am now left to practically babysit the other one, margo, as she wipes her giant bloody bits all over my bedcovers. Not gonna lie it’s bigger than her head, imagine a baboons arse been dragged over your pillow and brand new slippers? Yeah that’s what i’m dealing with because my bedroom is downstairs and mom hasn’t taught her boundaries (unlike my perfect luna of course…ha..ha…ha.. Shes staring at me demonically now i feel like one of those people in horror films where there is a demon inside the dog 20170128_132119that controls their every move when people aren’t looking – if you haven’t watched those films seriously watch them they are shitily great).

On the pregnancy front, i genuinely have no idea, i’m still waiting for my body to return to normal but i don’t think it even knows what’s normal itself now. I had my follow up appointment with a gynaecologist as the midwives were querying a bicornuate uterus and septum which would basically be the reason for my two miscarriages. But the scan showed no septum and only a slight bicornuate womb meaning, i have a heart shaped womb instead of a completely rounded one, which could cause some difficulty when the placenta attaches itself but it wouldn’t be the main reason img_20170120_095830_364why i cannot seem to get to 12 weeks. I have an appointment at a recurrent miscarriage clinic which will hopefully enlighten us as to possible reasons although i’m pretty sure i’m going to hear “nobody knows why this happens but it’s fairly common and most people have miscarriages without even realising,”  i practically hear that sentence in my dreams, so many people have said it to me. My GP does seem to think that it is linked to my crohns and the immunosuppressants i am on as a result of 20170121191533the crohns though, so we have a long way to go and i think my dream of actually being able to hold my baby before christmas 2017 is slowly becoming less realistic, all i keep telling myself is that when it finally happens and i get to see and hold my baby for the first time i’ll know that this hardship will all be worth it.

It’s now half 2 in the afternoon and i’m seriously considering taking a nap, i cannot even hear the program i’m trying to watch over the rain and Luna keeps trying to eat my gingerbread house i’m pretty confident is stale now, so imma go. Sorry if i bored you to death throughout this post, it’s more like a ramble of thoughts as i sit contemplating why i am not rich and living the life of luxury or why i 20170115_170818can’t get a huge toned ass and slim body whilst just sleeping and eating mac n cheese (which i really wish you could do at the same time).

Have a good week everybody!

Chloe xxx

 

P.s I dunno what i’m gonna title this post and considering i have nothing interesting going on atm my following posts are probably going to be just a stream of consciousness like this one so i may aswell be pretentious about it and call it a ‘series’ so it sounds purposeful, so here we are the first installment of the ‘Weekly Ramble’.

Also the pictures have no correlation to the text they are just a bunch of photos from this week. You can find more here.

To read my last blog post click here.

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