Before I get all hashtag blessed on you, I feel it’s only honest to share the things that we did not do so well as a family this weekend. Frozen chips and Channel 5 have featured more than they probably should. So too have Bad Words. Andrew has been trying, in whispers so I don’t hear, to make one of Raffy’s first words an Unclean One. And last night Bear exclaimed ‘bloody hell’ over some minor infringement of etiquette as we tried to get out the house for the village fireworks display. When Andrew told him off, Bear protested ‘it’s what mummy says’. I am less ashamed of my language than I am about having raised such a little snitch. Throughout the weekend Bear has refused to wear any underwear and Raff has punched me in the face. All in all I fear we shall not be bothering the pages of The White Company catalogue anytime soon.


Over the last few days, all three boys have also done some very Mama’s A Dirty Feminist things. When one of Bear’s friends was upset, Bear went over and rubbed his arm and tried to hug him. Later that night we had the school fireworks display. It happens in the field next to our pigs, so to make sure they were OK Andrew and Bear stationed themselves by the big pigs, Raff and I took the little ones. As the three little pigs cowered in the straw, and fireworks screamed and banged and turned the sky weird colours before falling from the sky onto our heads, Raff began to cry. But he wiggled his mouth courageously when I hugged him and tried to be OK. He was so brave. And yesterday, during my lie-in, Andrew made pancakes and bread with the boys.

Makes you want to go down to your nearest woods and set fire to things, doesn’t it? 

Best of all, Raff has taken an interest in books that goes beyond ripping out the flaps or throwing them down the stairs. And Bear enjoyed Rapunzel even more than a story about a pirate. In their emotional intelligence, pinnies, and willingness to accept and transcend their own vulnerability, they have rejected gender binarism and embraced a more fluid, less patriarchal ideology.

Which is all very nice, but we all know it’s looking pretty that really counts. NOTHING any of my boys could have said or done over the weekend will top my pride in their fashion choices.


The slightly pissy slouch of the seasoned model teamed with plastic farming trousers, a New York Tee, cousin’s check shirt, dad’s hat and a bold, colour-pop coat.


Here he moves the look on with A/W 16’s most directional accessory; The Shepherds Crook.


While lesser fashionsitas might opt for a mink or fox stole, not our Andrew, who is always looking to push the style boundaries. Here he elevates the stole into a living, breathing piece of art, which the less fashionable amongst you might mistake for a worm- riddled sheep. Lady Gaga and her meat dress suddenly seem a bit safe, non?


Introducing Princess Raffy.  I honestly could eat him.


2 thoughts on “Pride

  1. Haha you should write copy the picture descriptions are so funny! Glad I’m not the only one who gets the urge to set things on fire 👀 love a good bonfire. Nice safe, well controlled bonfires obviously. Great post 👍


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