Chocolate, Chaos and The Hugh Jackman Effect
Half-term. Those two glorious words that fill children with glee and strike mild terror into the hearts of parents across the land.
This Easter break, well, it’s been a particular kind of chaos, powered by chocolate, surrounded by bunnies and soaked in a solid week of Northern Irish rain, with the occasional moment of sun that lasts about six minutes and is always accompanied by a wind that slaps you round the face and reminds you that you absolutely do still live here.
Let’s start with the line-up: me, mum of two on half-term break, writing my blog, editing photos and keeping an eye on the world of social media, while navigating snacks, screen time arguments and the haunting repetition of “what are we doing today?” There’s the 16-year-old son who has spent the week emotionally processing Leicester’s inevitable relegation, and now insists on showing me how he would have avoided it, using Football Manager. I nodded along as he explained his tactical genius, all the while wondering how a child who can’t find the laundry basket can find the motivation to manage a virtual football empire.
Then there’s my 9-year-old daughter, who has developed a full-blown obsession with Hugh Jackman since watching The Greatest Showman. And honestly, I get it. There’s something about that red coat. It says, I may be flawed, but I can carry a tune and tame a lion. Respect. She’s not alone in her hormonal awakening either. I’ve been fully invested in Rupert Penry Jones in The Feud, and don’t even get me started on Tom Hardy in Mobland. Brooding, mysterious, and ever so slightly dangerous, yes please.
And let’s not forget Woody, our overly enthusiastic springer spaniel, who has now made it his life mission to steal socks, and not just steal them, but parade around proudly in a personal game of if you steal it, you wear it. He’s been giving fashionista energy all week, haute couture, muddy paw edition.
Here’s the thing: by Day 3, we were done. The novelty had worn off. The chocolate high had crashed. Even the bunnies looked knackered. And for reasons I still can’t explain, I suddenly decided I needed to become a baking goddess. Like some kind of apron-wearing Mary Berry possessed me. I made brownies, then cookies, then another batch of brownies because apparently, the first ones weren't chewy enough. Why does this time of year convince us we need more chocolate than Wonka’s factory? And here’s the kicker, I’m on Wegovy, so I can’t even eat more than a single bite without feeling like I need to lie down in a dark room with a peppermint tea and a regret hangover.
And in the midst of all this, the rain, the baking, the emotional football simulations, the Pope died. Now, I know religion’s a tricky one. I went to a convent high school in Essex, where the nuns were terrifying, the rules were tight, and the religious guilt was free-flowing. Honestly, it put me off religion for life. But the Pope’s passing got me thinking. I may not do churches, but I do believe in nature, in kindness, in something bigger than all of us. Call it spirituality, call it madness, but there’s a comfort in believing the world has a rhythm. Even when that rhythm includes back-to-back viewings of Wicked and The Greatest Showman, Minecraft YouTubers on loop, and fun-filled family trips to the exotic land of Sainsbury’s.
We did manage a cinema trip to see Snow White. I do love a good fairytale. Living with seven men, I guess that’s just one for each of my personalities. Surrounded by cute animals, what’s not to love? I’ll take the cottage, though, peace, quiet, and absolutely no one asking what’s for dinner every twenty minutes.
So to all the mummas and daddas out there, I see you, I hear you, I salute you. The coffee will be uninterrupted again soon. Stay focused. Don’t eat all the mini eggs in one sitting. And if your child wants to become a Premier League manager based on Football Manager stats, let them dream.
FiFi G x
