Darkest little secret….

WOW that sounds sinister?! Why do secrets languish in the shadows of guilt. Why is it wrong to admit the truth to something that is deemed against the norm? Am I scaring you yet? Pssttt, I am not a killer, sorry that would have been exciting gossip for the parents at the school gate? No, I do not have a favorite child, well to be honest that actually changes on a daily basis. Hey and before you mount your towering horse of parenting judgement, I love them equally, but for their differences and quirks. One cannot quantify love, it cannot be seen or held, only felt and how can one measure a feeling. Well I cannot. Good for you if you can.

Lets get it out there…

I Kelly Joy, GULP, sometimes wish I had a illness so great, that I am bed ridden for a few days. Enabling me to get off the whirlwind that is modern life. Hey and before we go all batshit crazy on this, I do not mean cancer or some other terrible heartache many humans have to navigate, just a nice dose of “friendly virus”. It can be uncomfortable and hurt, so it allows me to have a perfect excuse, just to not to get up. I can hide under those dark, deep covers of sanity. Away from the family chores, the cleaning, the responsibility of my children, my work, the bills, the scheduling, the driving. All the things I can never get to, that compound on my shoulders, weighing me down. My fight to push myself to a sub 3 HR marathon, balancing work, running and family, trying to cook a nutritious home cooked meal, bake cakes, organize birthday parties, vacations, getting to each of my children and giving them what they need at any given moment, to fight aging and look attractive against the sea of under 40 parents, the fear my husband may leave me for a younger model. Be put together and calm, follow social rules, think of others before myself, a good friend, a kind person, give back, organize Christmas, keep in touch with family abroad… ARRGGGHHHH I Just cannot keep my fucking head above the water line. I almost drown daily and thank god I am a pretty good swimmer, as I have always swam against the tide.

Can you believe, I curl up and cry and hide, SHOCKER? Sometimes I wish for a dose of friendly flu, so I can avoid and hide and sleep, I just want to sleep all bloody day and not empty the dishwasher for the 10 millionth time or listen to my kids kick the shit out of each other, not cook dinner, fold washing …. just sleeeep. Crazy huh?

Before you go all preachy and worried. No I am not depressed, never have been, I love life, I love adventures, I love my boys. My anxiety is gone, so have my panic attacks (thanks to my 40 miles a week of running), my anorexia is managed, I have great friends, an awesome husband, but life is messy and busy and cluttered and sometimes I want it all to stop for 24HRS. Like the Thanos SNAP and then we go back and start again, clean slate, tidy life, to go forth and mess it the fuck up again, as that is what life is, a long messy transition from birth to death. With so much love, living and being thrown in between.

Dirty little secret it may be? I am sure people will think I need help, or am nuts, or not coping, but who the fuck does not need help, is normal ( I hate that word) and is coping, no one I know on the inside. Why should it be a secret, why can we not share and care, love and help, laugh and cry together over this tectonic ride we are on, forever moving and changing.

I will always feel every moment, I will cry hard and laugh loudly, enjoy the good, balance along walls, cartwheel in the grass, sing to my favorite song, love with all my might and not apologize for my honesty. But I will be honest and not be perfect and a pain in the ass, a bee in your ear, revealing all I am and reflecting all you will not share and with that I am giving you permission to reveal, break down, join my party in life and that is my gift to you. I give you my dirty secret and honesty, so you can be you and release and know I am way crazier and needy than you will ever be. Don’t mind if I do.

You are so very welcome.


Summer, break every part of me.

Let me start with a very honest caveat to this article. I Kelly Krystina love my children with every fiber in my body. Yet, that does not mean I always like them. Truth.

As Philip Larkin rightly said :-

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.”

So clearly there is no hope that I will actually create a better, kinder version of myself. I may as well stop beating myself up, when my kid farts at the dinner table and laughs and I crack up in hysterics internally under my stern facade and, ” please do not be so rude, young man”.

I was not born to be a mother, it is not my forte or natural talent. Yes, I work damn hard at being the best version of a mother I can be, but no I am not the “chosen” one, it was never on my list of career paths. Fashion Buyer, yes, Travel Writer, yes, Architect, yes, Mother – um nope. My forte of dreams are international travel, coffee drinking, running and people watching. For example, right now I would particularly like to spend 3 days in the snow tipped mountains of Colorado, trail running every day, interspersed with fine wine drinking in exclusive vineyards and floating in natural pools totally alone.

As a family we bob alone on the sea that is school, work and after school activities and then out of no where along comes summer break. Fist pump, yes, no schedules, no early mornings, no packing lunches… WHOOP, here we come fun adventures and vacations to strange places. I dream of idling on the beach watching my beautiful boys build elaborate sandcastles and splashing in the sea.

UM NO F ING way, are you delusional? BOOM, lets start with ocean water drownings, sand rammed into eyes and rugby tackling into the surf is what I contend with, snacks dropped in to the water, (clearly all my fault as I am now their resident snack bitch). Heart broken tears when they do not get the (insert beach toy description or brightly coloured confectionery snack here). Therefore, summer has me like – shit I have birthed three, mini, ungrateful ass holes. At least one of them is my mini me GULP. Summer is grinding me down to the point, where I don’t want to parent the crying, the fights (I am really a referee and not a parent) the eternal eye rolling, continue with the constant food prep, the tidying, the keeping them entertained, safe, off electronics. I do, just want to close my eyes for a few seconds, hopefully no one will die and wish for a small moment that they may disappear for an hour or two and I can lie down with a book or take a pee and not have to break mid stream, pull up my knickers and bolt towards the blood curdling scream emitting from a child being pummeled by his sibling or the fact he cannot find (insert random toy here). I mean WTF – you mean that broken plastic toy you have not touched for months.

I don’t want to deal with their ass holeness, when I need to work on my inner ass hole and man she looms large some days, Yes I have walked silently behind my wonderful  small child flicking the double V sign and no it is not for peace, maybe peace out, as he berates me, with his smart talking mouth of how unfair I am and life is, that he cannot have a play date this second with his friend I have never met, let alone the parents. I just do not have the capacity to deal with a double dosage of the ass… At that point it is all about survival until 7.30pm and I can put them to bed. Or myself 🙂

Older people say let them get bored oh and I do, but unless my three boys are given a constructive physical activity, they will just run wild around the house like Genghis Khan heading into battle or they wrestle over every item of furniture they can find, imagine the noise and destruction, please imagine that. Mind Blown BOOM. Each day is a re enactment of “Lord of the Flies” and each day I wonder so who will be Piggie today?Occasionally, they play quietly, but they are boys they need to move and letting them run out and play in the streets on the afternoon of a 95F Florida summers day, well that lasts all of 5 minutes and they can only be in the pool for so long before someone attempts a back flip in the shallow end. NOT COOL – I scream in horror as I pour myself a large drink and turn on another kid friendly movie. PEACE.

Yes I agree Summer, is fun and truly it is, but oh its distressingly hard, to the point where I cannot decide if I love or dislike those hot summer days of supposed freedom and carefree fun?

I’ll let you know once these 10 weeks are up, probably from a padded cell in the local mental asylum. 🙂

Dreaming of a Sunday ?!?

AHHH my day today.. Sundays, a day of rest and relaxation. Supping coffee in a comfy chair with the sun dappling across the morning papers. Birds chirping in the trees as you do your Sunday meditation and yoga in complete silence. Maybe some lazy Sunday copulating with your significant other and a delicious,home cooked meal with a delightful glass of wine…

UM NO FUCKING WAY …. My day… I was woken up at 6am by a naked toddler, playing with his penis, demanding breakfast and shouting “I am HUNGRRRYYYYY”. coffee, was heated from the day before whilst I shovel my breakfast down to the 7 am whine, ” What do you mean no TV, man that sucks, and I’m so bored, this house is soooo boring”. My reply ” well best you go and find something to do”. While I put on 3 million loads of washing and clean the kitchen, make lunches for tomorrow and clear up the 6.30 am painting session you all decided to indulge in.

Then I have to put on my Sergeant Major hat, to conduct peace talks at least 20 times between a 9 and 6 year old as they repeatedly re enact “The Lord of The Flies”, ” other wise I may be watching “Armageddon” or “Fight Club”

Later I cringe under the back handed “you suck’ comments at our Sunday basketball, because I did not bring the right water bottle and I use all my strength and yoga will power to swallow down the wrath of mama building up inside. Instead I weep the whole way home in the car and march them to bed. As they apologise profusely and are heart broken that they have broken my heart by their inappropriate behaviour and rudeness to myself and our hostess….

Now I sit here with the much needed “that glass of wine” Ahhh at least something rang true to the ideology of the perfect Sunday.

Flu, have an opinion?

With the current flu pandemic effecting most states, the topic of vaccinations and children, once again raises its head.

Whether you do or do not, get a trained medical professional to stick a needle into your kids arm or thigh and administer a clear (potentially life saving) liquid into your child’s tiny little body, that is your right to do so.  I have many friends who do not vaccinate and I have many friends who do.

It’s such a personal choice and we may not agree on each others choices, but its ours, we have to remember that. I vaccinate, my personal belief that, way over the idea of metals being placed in my kids bodies and the potential side effects, I would rather that, than them, getting flu or polio or some other eradicated, previously life threatening disease. You can tell me I am dumb or pour out some spiel from some study, by some person. But I will never not vaccinate, like I could never convince someone to vaccinate who has chosen not to. The fallacy or reality (as remember it has not ever been really proven) that they can cause autism is a chance I will (repeatedly) take if it saves my kids life and the life of a sick child or a child too young to be vaccinated. My eldest, which is common knowledge, has high functioning Autism. Was it his shots at birth that caused this, who the hell knows? Is it genetic, or the way he was born, we will never know? But, I feel he has a far better chance to best the odds if he ever gets sick, which currently he has not. He is brilliant and healthy.

The thing is I will vaccinate and take the supposed risks, as I believe there are far worse threats to my kids life, food dyes in food (banned in Europe) as its proven they cause hyperactivity and cancer. I will never ever let my kids drink a Gatorade, Froot loops, MnM’s – again my choice, my belief, my opinion, good or bad. My kids will always wear a bike helmet when they cycle, I avoid hard candy (coloring’s and choking threats) and the list continues.

We all do what is best for our children and we may never agree, but we must respect, I will always love a person for their hearts and kindness. You may believe in God, I believe in science. You may like Trump, I do not. You believe in the right to own a gun, I never will. I love you and and I may never agree with you, but I value your ideas and thoughts. As long as you are not a racist, chauvinist, a bigot or narcissist, I will always sit and wait for your side, your thought out idea and the argument for or against. I hope people can always do this and not be blinkered to shut down and push out friends for having opposing beliefs. It makes us unique. Listening, not accusing or shouting creates community and understanding, respect and kindness. I will always like/love a friend if they just have the ability to listen and not bombard, accuse or demean a thought or another person.

We all do our best by our children and our fear and love for them is what drives us to keep them happy, loved, well and safe. For me that is one thing and that includes a shot to the arm every year from Flu, to you that is not, to me that is science at its best, to you that is a money making machine. We will always beg to differ.

Wanted! – A better parent?

In a million, trillion years I am not a great parent, a goodish one, yes, a moderately passable one, yes-ish. So for me to achieve greatness, I have a long way to go. A super, loooooonnnngggg way. Like 30 thousand miles plus, of an arduous and highly lengthy journey. In reality I totally do not have my shit together in the semblance of any form of an acceptable package.

I swear too much in front of my kids, always with the caveat that, only I can do that and it is not until they leave my home can a “fuck you, you ass hole” ever pass their lips. After 5 pm, it is not the witching hour for my kids, but for me. Excessive noise, screaming and shouting, too much homework, will send me into a whirling dervish melt down, frenzy, maybe a little wall kick or two. I too am a mere human, with an extreme sensitivity to too many people and too much noise> Therefore, technically I am kinda buggered, that I gave birth to 3 boys, hence 2 kids too many and 2 boys too many, if any shred of sanity was going to survive. Swimming, counselling, lots of love, hugs and the occasional bottle of wine, will sooth the pain.

So then, it got me to thinking, would I be a better parent if I lived closer to my parents and family. If all that pressure was taken off my shoulders and I could drop them off for an afternoon or evening and decompress. So I could readjust and just be. Even pee without an audience would be awesome, “mama can I see your poo poo?” the resounding answer BTW is a ” HELL NO”. I feel there are so many positives for being closer to family and not living 5000 miles away. However, is it any easier for those who do live near their folks, are some decisions made for you, without you knowing, do you feel obliged to have to conform to family traditions that you may not like or even agree with? I do think a lot of guilt could also play a part on not wanting to conform, are there too many influences in the kids life, your life, too much can be as tiring as too little? That type of pressure must be immense.

However,I  do feel my kids miss out hugely on extended family, cousins and grandparents and I miss out on a web of love to fall back on. I believe, I would parent more effectively and a touch calmer maybe, if the support was there. I know for sure, I would be richer, if we did not have to pay babysitters just to get adult time. Yet on the flip side, my children get all of me, the good, bad and ugly. They understand my humanity and they also know, I am not always right and that I am flawed and love them until I hurt and that is OK, it is OK not to cope and cry and release their emotions, maybe that is why my house is SO LOUD, wild, raucous and emotional.

Yet, parenting is not a walk in the park, no matter what situation you are in. You are perpetually tired, stressed, bombarded emotionally from all angles, no kid is perfect and neither are we. We do the best we can with the village and tools provided to us. People ask  how you do it, but the answer for all, is you have to, there is no alternative, if we do not do it, who will? No one ever knows the full situation, of your life, what lies beneath the skin, at the core of you, its still you, a person, a parent, someone who needs love and care as well.

The up shot is, I think I would be a better mother if I were near my family, but I also do not dislike the way I do parent, I am constantly working at it, I have made all my own decisions for good and bad. This was my choice and I live with it every day and every day I do feel guilty for my kids that we are so far away, but, I remember they also have a quality of life, that we could not have provided for them in England. They have so many opportunities that I never had as a kid and I want them to play golf, tennis, hockey, learn to ski, sail boats etc etc, we could never have given them that back home, we just would not have had the money. We get to see daddy ever night, in the UK he would be commuting and never home. So I do not feel sorry for our choices, yet always,a little sad we are so far away, as I miss our families deeply ,their love, laughter and eccentricities.

However, to all parents, I say this. To those who do it alone, the single parent homes, the homes who also look after the grandparents, the homes with help, no help, money, no money, the homes where parents have their own issues, kids with disabilities, illnesses. Remember,we are all the same. Be kind to each other, help each other on this journey we are on, it can get long and it can be lonely, talk to each other, share the greatness and the shitness of your day, as we have all been there at some point.

We love our kids, we do our best, we fail, we succeed, we laugh, we cry, we do the fucking best job we can and then try to do it better and that is what parenting is all about.



Some serious adulting.

The words parent and adulting or parent and tequila, cocktails and Prosecco should NEVER EVER be uttered in sequence in the same sentence, like ever. Therefore, one must assume that being a parent and pouring the above cocktail down your throat over a period of several hours is the stupidest thing I have ever done… STOP, you there, parent of three rambunctious tiny men, do not partake in the consumption of adult libations. ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? Yup, yes I am, and the shameful thing is, that through out the course of my currently 8 year mothering phase, I have repeated this mistake a good few times. Each time I want to grab, happy, dancing, drunk, mama off the party train and make that train reverse back over her several time, just too remind that mad bitch lurking inside her… THAT……





HER PARENTS DO NOT LIVE IN THIS COUNTRY (no last minute babysitting request for you, you dumb ass, light weight)


YOU ARE A BLOODY MOTHER OF THREE (we never sleep in, we are always running amok and hollering as LOUD as we can, whilst being extremely needy and totally incapable of leaving you alone, while you die in the darkness, under your duvet) BOYS.


The big kid, grown up, party in the city was oh so fun, we danced, we drunk cocktails, we danced, we did shots, we danced and we laughed, we went to bed at 2.30 am (gasp, I have only ever seen that time to administer love and attention to a small frightened, occasionally vomiting child), after a tactical vomit, I realize life has just been far too much fun this evening for said, naughty, insensible parent.

However, as the sun blossoms searingly over the horizon. I’m peeling apart my mascara caked eyes, shifting my aching, dancing legs and blearily peeking in to the bath room mirror. I sigh, as I look upon a, not so beautiful now, aging parent, who is hungover and is now painfully regretting her (this mama, does not party often) excitement of last night. The head ache BOOMS, the stomach churns and the room is a little hazy.  Flopping back on to the warm bed, staring at the oh so quiet ceiling, I know that a mere, 12 painfully loud, busy, unending hours separate me from resuming this position and getting to shut my throbbing eyes once more.

Survival mode kicks in. 30 minute run (kill or cure time), Bagel, Coffee, Tylenol, sunglasses and a shower. Provide each child with own I pad, and a family sized pack of Cheerios. Another parent fail (I currently do not give a flying F) I let them melt their brains, just so you know they will leave you well alone.

Remember to repeat as needed and chant the words “NEVER AGAIN”.

Well, until next time 😉

Penis Party

As a mother of boys I am surrounded by my fair share of penises, no big deal. Also, through my informative youth I became quite accustomed to and up close and personal to enough penises, to know the general biology and structure of the “willie, cock, third leg, brain, the old man, weinus” hanging proudly between each mans thighs.

However, since having my boys, my nonchalance of this appendage has changed to confusion, fear and wonderment. My first major penis decision was to keep them all intact and not circumcised. No one is chopping my kids bell end off and definitely not because I am told to or for any cosmetic reasons. My second rite of passage was to clean that ‘little bean’ daily for them until they were of an age to take this on for themselves, I am kind of relieved when this happens, as you never know how much urine is wrapped round those things when they are young, bleuch. Thirdly I have to make sure that the skin pulls back nicely exposing their tiny little purple ends, I discover I am squeamish about this and I was even kindly showed by the pediatrician how to do it. Now this I find terrifying, surely that stretching of skin is not physically possible. Apparently it really is, as my kids like to show me daily in the bath, the little beasts that they are.

Watching my boys get acquainted to their “best friend” to say the least has been interesting and entertaining. The fact that the are always, playing with it, pulling it so far out of their bodies it twangs back and making it disappear between their legs and shouting “I’m a girl, look at me Mama, I’m a girl” and then laughing hysterically, I truly cannot believe that does not cause excruciating pain, they all ensure me it does not, as they windmill that thing at me, waggling it like a fish out of water.

Obviously it is an amazing thing, it has its own cooling system for its baby making tadpoles and it likes to stand to attention at inappropriate moments as it practices for when it is a big boy. Many a time I have had to push that thing down, to attempt to get a diaper over it, whilst screaming at my husband “are you SURE this does not hurt them?” He bellows back “NO”

This is clearly only the start of my penis odyssey and I am sure these little guys will throw a few curve “balls” 🙂 at me along the way. I am hoping this is not a teenage pregnancy or an STD. But until then I will continue to help them on their penis perfecting journey and realize that their brains really should stay within their heads.



I am sure when my boys were born this was with the help of a daddy? He was and is very present, he changed them, played with them, bathed them, read to the them. He still does all of the above.

So how is it they do not know his name… The following is all said in a loud sing song/shout voice! “Mummmmmmmyyyyyyy I done poo poo, mummy I need water, mummy I’m hungry, mummy can you find my…. (fill in here as necessary)  This is all fine and dandy, but when I am in the middle of eating, showering, using the bathroom (oh to shit in peace and alone), they will physically, walk past, over, through and around daddy sitting RIGHT there !?! Like he is right  in the line of fire to get to me. I’m not sure if daddy has this amazing miracle invisible cloak on or is so quiet no one registers his existence. But damn I need some. Even when I say, go and ask daddy, they weirdly always manage to find their way back to me.

Shit, daddy is bigger, stronger, faster and smarter than I, surely a far better choice for help. It would be so lovely to make and drink a coffee in peace… one day and then that’s the day I’ll want it all back, the noise and chaos and fights and love …. 

Remember boys, daddy rocks mummy sucks 😂👍


When my solemn 5 year old K2 asks me “Why do you have a “China”?” 

I stop washing the floor and squint at him. “Um, I don’t understand, China?” 

To which he flourishes his arm, thrusts it forward and points at my short, clad groin region. Ahhhh my vagina I grin. 

Now I was not in the correct frame of mind to divulge and reveal the nitty gritty nature and mechanics of the “China” vs the “weinus” (Kids choice of penis word). So I come out with the lazy, get out of jail parenting explanation. “Because I am a girl.” He stares again, seems ready to accept, goes to walk away and stops. He looks at me and says “Why?” Oh shit, here we go. Do I do skim over details and give him the pretty, cute explanation or the scientific version. I decide on scientific and hope it answers all questions here and now and for the foreseeable future.

Here goes…. “Well, the “China”(vagina) …..”


When Kid 3 (age 2.5 years) is terrified of thunder and you live in the lightening capitol of America – you make up songs, to ease his fears and tears.

Thunder, thunder you’re so loud, 

Thunder, thunder Pom Pom Pow. (this is how he describes the noise of thunder) 

Thunder, thunder shhhh be quiet,

Thunder, thunder please be silent….

Use at will… –  you are welcome 🙂