Mummyfried

  Where have I been for the last 8 months?  Fighting. Last summer, I should have been doing what mothers of teenagers do before a new school year. Buying school supplies. Complaining about the heat. Trying to get my daughter out of bed before midday. Arguing about screen time. Instead, I spent it trying to rebuild an autistic teenager who was already in burnout and preparing myself for another year of fighting the people who are supposed to educate her. This summer, I am doing it again. My daughter is 15. She is autistic. She is academically capable. She is sensitive, funny, complicated and sometimes extraordinarily difficult to reach when the world has become too much. And she has been bullied. More than once. That last fact matters because autism does not exist separately from everything that happens to a child. When an autistic teenager is bullied, overwhelmed, misunderstood and repeatedly required to function in an environment that causes distress, eventually something giv...

There’s a particular kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. It comes from pretending. From swallowing words you don’t mean, smiling when your stomach is doing cartwheels, and nodding along to things your soul already filed under “nope.” And honestly? I’m over it. I want my life to feel like mine again. So I am taking action because it’s a fundamental human right to. My plan? A few simple steps. Step 1. I am lifting my vibration. Yes, candles are lovely. Yes, crystals are shiny, but they make me feel like a magpie with spiritual ambitions. But vibration isn’t about aesthetics — it’s about what I am carrying. My vibe lifts when: I stop dragging guilt like an IKEA bag with a broken handle. I stop living in conversations that only exist in my head. I stop shrinking because someone else is loud. High vibration isn’t “I never get sad.” High vibration is: “I get sad, I feel it, I learn, and I don’t build a permanent house there.” Step 2. Positive thinking that w...

I really thought we were Thelma and Louise. Laverne and Shirley. The good cop and the bad cop. Two women, and a decade of firsts after a lot of pain. We did the first holidays — the first Christmases, the first New Years. We stood by each other through the deaths of our fathers. We sat in silence at your father’s funeral. I said goodbye to my dad through yours. We survived job pressures, kids pushing boundaries. I taught your child to swim. You took mine to her first disco when I was stuck at work. We laughed. We argued. You helped me when I was sick. I helped you when you were sad. I truly believed this was for life. But you found a reason to break away first. Accused me of excluding your child when I never did — a projection of what you had already done to mine. Because the truth is, your betrayal was great. My child lost an opportunity because you weren’t honest, because you had your own plans. I have since cut the chord. I visualized it snapping, disintegrating. I mourn what could ...

 It’s where I wake up in a dream-like haze, sunlight spilling through the windows. Curtains are not needed -  this view holds me in its quiet arms.  It’s where the sounds at night cradle me into the deepest sleep I’ve had in years — as if the world decided to hush itself just for me. Swimming here feels like a contradiction in motion: floating yet grounded, free yet connected.  It’s as if the water knows my name, as if it understands I came here with heavy thoughts and leaves me lighter. Now that I’m back to reality, I catch myself thinking of this place.  Not just about returning — but about making it mine.  Building a life wrapped in its calm, letting its peace soak into everything I do. This is it. My happy place. The one that wh ispers: Come back. Stay. Just be.

There’s a particular kind of ache no one warns you about in parenting—the ache of quiet disappointment. Not because your child isn’t good enough, but because you see their potential, their gifts, their strengths… and they don’t. Or worse, they can’t be bothered to try. My daughter is smart. Naturally bright, curious, funny. Charismatic, some said. Get her tested, others advised. Push her, a few insisted. Let her be a child—she’ll always be smart, said many. I did a bit of everything. I gently encouraged her. I gave her every opportunity I could afford. And she did… nothing. I saw her gifts early on. I believed in her. I still do. But I also saw what she wouldn’t admit: she didn’t want to try. Like so many parents, I saved where I could, sacrificed in ways no one could see, and supported her softly. I tried not to overwhelm. No pressure—just faith. The quiet, steady kind. I gave her room to grow—space I never had. And she knew. She knew what I gave up. She knew the belief behind eve...

Every day, I push a boulder up a hill. It’s shaped like my daughter — brilliant, sensitive, misunderstood. But I’m not pushing her. I’m pushing the weight of judgment, bureaucracy, and the constant need to prove she belongs. She was bullied again. The more it happens, the more she retreats, becoming “weird” in their eyes. And now the school says she should go to a special school. Bullshit. They don’t want to support her — they want to pass her on. We’ve changed schools before. A kind but clueless principal shut the door. I had high hopes for this one, but here we are. I’m heartbroken and angry. At the same time, I’m searching for a therapist who sees her, not just as a case file or a checklist. This is someone’s life — not a 9 to 5. Your words and your choices shape her happiness. I’m not asking for the answer I want. I’m asking you to look at my daughter and see the brilliance she carries. The fire, the sparkle, the potential. Neurodivergent kids need a break, not a shove....

The gender drought has officially broken.  No, I am not dating. But the Mummyfried household moved in a male - and we're all hopelessly in love. Each in our own way. He's demanding, exhausting, loves unconditionally, eats constantly, sleeps constantly, and poops wherever he pleases. We have welcomed a puppy into the fold. Mr. Milo. And yes, I feel like a toddler in a candy store: thrilled but clueless. This furry little tornado spins through the house on FULL CYCLE. Despite the cute ads, online puppy training courses have been ignored. Instead, I'm trawling the internet for free puppy tips while imagining the vet rolling his eyes with every phone call. But here's my truth bomb: I'm not paying someone to teach me how to train my dog when I can wing it. How hard can it be? (Cue ominous music.) Miss Tween-soon-to-be-Teen—adores Milo. She's all heart-eyes and giggles. Until it's time to pick up his "presents." That's where the romance fades. My pho...

I met a girl some years ago who told me she hated February. She thought it was a wasteful month—too few weekends, silly changes every four years, and the older you get, the more complex its grip seems to tighten. It’s the month of Aquarius moving into Pisces—water, water, drowning everything away. The month specifically allocated to romantic love—a ridiculous, cruel notion when relationships fail, people are desperate for love (or sex), and during a water month, most are going through a love drought.  Every February I think of this girl and agree with her sentiment.  February is a wasteful month. And yet, my first love, my firstborn, was born in February, so I am forced to recognize it. It's the month you need to start functioning again because the New Year hangover is over, and January's festive glow has worn off—reality sets in. And so has my need to blog. 2025 rolled in with all the grace of stepping into a giant pile of dog shit. Slippery, stinky, ugly—with the end result ...

Forget resolutions left unresolved and dreams deferred. This year isn’t about what I didn’t do, this is the year of what I did. It’s a mixed bag of chaos, growth, hilarity, and a few heartfelt moments, so here’s my little victory lap in no specific order: I Blogged! (A Lot, Actually)  First off, let’s give it up for consistency. I blogged my way through 2024—not as many posts as I wanted, and not as funny as I’d hoped, but hey, I showed up & I maintained two blogs, this and my professional blog. 🥳 The pearly whites:  One thing I didn’t realize until just today: I started 2024 in the dentist’s chair, and guess where I’m ending it? Yup, the same place. My dental dramas are rolling straight into 2025, and my dentist and I are now so intimate we do drinks every now and then.  To add to the fun, my firstborn embarked on the braces journey, complete with high-level brace drama just in time for the holidays. Nothing too serious—just inconvenient enough to remind us that den...

 My little and youngest cherub also known as "The Baby" entered this world with a full head of dark hair, the rosiest cheeks, and the most beautifully red lips, of which Snow White would be jealous. "Easy baby" doesn't even begin to come close to describing her — she arrived in this cold, complex world to make everything effortlessly bright and joyful. Cute doesn't scratch the surface. Clever? Emotionally intelligent? Absolutely. She's all that and more. She has an incredible knack for giving. She consistently dips into her own money box to buy gifts for her older sister just to see her smile. And it's not just a one-off; it's her way of being. I have a collection of love letters, drawings, and hearts from her that tree environmentalists would rightly question how many trees were sacrificed—but each one is priceless. The popularity of this kid astounds me. She gets called constantly for playdates and visits; our door has a revolving sign just for...

Let’s start with a confession: while recuperating recently, I’ve spent much time staring at the ceiling—aka ceiling therapy. During this downtime, I’ve binged on podcasts, webinars, and some serious daydreaming. But let’s get one thing straight: I’m not talking about following white witches or wishing on a star. I’m talking about getting your vibration (a.k.a. your inner energy) in the right place. And no, this isn’t “good vibes only” fluff. It’s about being positive, grateful, hopeful, and confidently strutting into your dream life like you already own it. Are you bored yet? If no, keep reading. Is Manifestation Just Fancy Goal Setting with Cosmic Glitter? So, is manifestation just another way of setting goals? Kind of! But think of it as goal setting with a twist—a twist of cosmic lemon, if you will. Traditional goal setting is like writing a to-do list for your life. Manifestation is like placing an order with the universe’s drive-thru, trusting your meal will arrive, even if it co...

Summer – the season of beach outings, golden tans, and those magical evenings under the stars . Usually , this is the time of year when we’re all about mobility, late nights, laughter, and just being outdoors - even in the heat - but things took an unexpected turn. I recently had surgery, and my summer plans have a different kind of journey: recovery. It’ll take up to two months to get back to my usual self . I am a little frustrated and bored . Instead of the 6 am morning dip before - and the sneaky plunge after work - I’m stuck indoors, staring at the ceiling with the air con on FULL. I can’t sit for too long , can’t stand for too long – it’s a delicate dance of finding the least uncomfortable position .   And that ceiling - its bland. But there’s a silver lining . For the first time in 30 years (yes, I am old) , my mom has come to care for me . It’s been a heartwarming (and sometimes heart-wrenching) experience. Her care is nothing short of amazing . The foo...