Stories Archives - Page 3 of 4

Tell us your Story!

03/09/201824/06/2021Jo Caddy

Everyone on this planet has a story to tell, in fact everyone has many stories to tell. Inspiring stories, sad stories, happy stories, humorous stories, wacky and weird stories, the list goes on. A great deal of these stories involve a Mum or Grandma or deal with motherhood in general and these are the stories we want to hear. You don’t have to be a professional writer, although if you are, you are also welcome, you just need an ability to tell a story in a clearly understandable way. We don’t want an exclusive blog that is only for writers to showcase their talents, we want real people telling real stories. We want YOU telling YOUR stories.

We love all kinds of stories, true events, based on true events and Fiction and we accept Flash Fiction (500-1000 words) as well as Short stories (1000-3000). Please check out our submissions page for guidelines if you’d like to have your story showcased on our site and take a look at some of the stories we’ve put up so far by clicking here. We look forward to hearing from you!

Confessions of a Full-time Mum and would-be Writer

19/08/201824/06/2021Jo Caddy

A True Story, in Flash-Fiction Style!

Warning: Confessions contained within of my true MumLife.

So Let me give you a bit of a back-story first. With 5 children life can get more than a little chaotic. I was a stay-at-home mum for most of my older children’s younger years, 9 years in total and whilst it was rewarding in itself, I had some very difficult moments when I felt overwhelmingly lost and incomplete. After going through a difficult divorce and years of depression and subsequent healing, I decided to go back to study and trying to get my Photography business off the ground. For 3 years I somewhat felt like I had my life back. I was a single mum with 3 children in Primary school and life was full-on but there was a balance to it that made me feel whole for the first time in my life. Fast forward another 3 years and I’m re-married with 2 more little ones (2 yrs & 8 mnths) and have once again returned to Full-time Motherhood.

At one stage I felt like I’d taken a gigantic leap backwards and I was terrified that I’d lost that balance I’d worked so hard to obtain. I was determined this time however, that I was going to be the best mum I could be by not only taking care of my children’s needs but mine as well. So a few months ago I decided to rekindle my long-lost passion of 20 years ago. Writing!

I love writing stories, this blog proves it, and I have found that entering short story writing competitions and Flash-Fiction contests is great practice in honing my writing skills. I wrote this story below for a Flash-Fiction contest where the photo (below) was the writing prompt. I decided to go in a direction I believed would be different from everyone else, and write about myself and my experience in writing this story for this competition. I didn’t win this time, but at least I now have an interesting true story to share with you my lovely readers. I hope you enjoy it! ~ Jo Stewart

Confessions of a Full-time Mum and would-be Writer

I stared at the photo before me, my eyes scanning each part of the scene that had been meticulously orchestrated. A middle-aged woman in a modest black dress, graced the dining room setting. She was leaning over a substantially large table, adjusting the cutlery as though placing the final piece into a giant puzzle. I tried to decide if she should be the wealthy hostess of a dinner party or the caterer, hired by some fortunate couple, about to announce life altering news.

It was late, close to midnight but it was the first moment I’d managed to steal away from my 5 children all day. Granted, 2 of them were snoozing in the bed next to me, their little snores like a musical accompaniment. My eyelids were heavy and sleep crouched close by, threatening to pounce. My fingers lingered over the keyboard on my phone as I dug deep into my underutilized creative repertoire.

Master 2 had woken at 5am again that morning and I was way past exhausted, but determined to complete the challenge and prove that it was possible to balance a family with pursuing ones dreams.

Although my mind was starting to resemble something one would strain pasta with, I managed to think outside the box and come up with an intriguing story line that I was convinced no-one else could conceivably conjure up. Of course I was one eyelid dip away from total unconsciousness so I may have been deluding myself.

I woke suddenly to the hungry protests of my 6-month-old sleep-thief. I picked my phone up off my torso and realized I’d been asleep for a grand total of 15 minutes. Obviously exhaustion had won the battle but I wouldn’t let it conquer the war, and returned to my narrative mission once my milk-drunk little monkey was sufficiently settled in the land of nod.

I knew it would be only 5 hours till Master 2 dragged me out of bed kicking and screaming (interpret that how you will) but if I slept every time I managed to get both hands free, then all I’d have is a clear mind full of ideas and not a scrap of time to write them down. If self expression meant fatigue and a foggy outlook, then so be it. I charged bravely into the wee hours only to succumb to the sleep demon 5 minutes later.

22 hours passed and I was back in the same position resuming my assignment. I’d make the deadline if I had to sticky-tape my eyelids open. I checked the word count, the digits displayed 519, time to delete a few unnecessary words.

500 words was not a tough target, in fact my problem had always been condensing my creative genius to a minimum word count, always teetering on or one word under, the maximum. In hindsight however the tight rules regarding word counts probably served to restrict my overzealous descriptive prose to a less yawn-provoking length. Hence word number 499.

Big Brother Syndrome

17/08/2018Jo Caddy

What is Big Brother Syndrome?

Is your baby irritable, frustrated, easily upset? Are you finding it difficult to leave baby on his/her playmat for more than 5 minutes before the screaming starts? He/she could be suffering from a common condition called ‘Big Brother Syndrome’. This syndrome is more common than you might think and sufferers can experience symptoms for as long as 18 years or in some cases all their lives.

Before the days when my 8-month-old could sit-up confidently on his own, he really didn’t have much drama in his life. He had a steady supply of warm mummy milk and was never short of cosy cuddles (he had two parents and three teenage siblings) and every need was catered for. He never had to lie in a soiled nappy for more than a few minutes, his clothes were kept dry with many changes throughout the day, he had milk on tap as mummy was always close by and without a real schedule, he could nap anywhere, anytime, without fuss.

Symptoms

Something changed however when he made the huge leap in his development to sitting confidently on his own. He now spent more time on the floor, playing with toys, practicing his rolls and planking the floor in an attempt to figure out the whole “crawling” thing. I noticed a dramatic change in his behaviour at this point. He was continually frustrated, giggling one moment and crying the next, sitting one moment and the next taking a nose dive toward the floor. Some of this could be attributed to wanting to do more than he was able, but as I observed his activity throughout the day, I realised his problem was much more serious than that.

He appeared to be suffering from the unwarranted attention of his 2-year-old big brother. I’d walk out of the room for a few minutes to prepare breakfast or lunch etc and return to find said toddler ‘riding’ his brother, who was prostrate on the floor, tummy to the ground, arms out to either side, a look of desperation on his chubby little face. Sometimes the more shocking scene would confront me (a nightmare for any parent), with the toddler trying to pick his little brother up, his short little arms wrapped around the babies chest from behind, grunts of effort echoing from his pursed lips, the baby squealing either in ignorant delight or perceptive fear, reacting in turn to mummies terrified expression. This would happen 2 or 3 times a day at the beginning until the 2-year-old realised that such actions would equal less than positive attention from Mummy.

The 130-Storey Treehouse by Andy Griffiths

_{This page contains affiliate links that may earn me a small commission (at no extra cost to you) should you click through and make a purchase. Affiliate links are how I keep this blog running, thank you.}

Causes

This was just one of many incidents leading to my babies ‘Big Brother Syndrome’. Other offenses toward the baby by his big brother include:

Snatching toys from his hands and mouth, only to throw them outside of his reach.
Bending fingers and hands backwards to test flexibility.
Smothering with sloppy open-mouthed kisses.
Interrupting milky time by sticking his hand between babies mouth and Mummies milky bottles. (This is followed by giggles from both boys as milk squirts everywhere and drenches both Mummy and Baby).
Throwing food at him in his adjacent high chair, breakfast, lunch and dinner time (a hit between the eyes earns a hearty chuckle).
Stealing his dummy, teething ring, rusk or sippy cup.
Screaming at him to ‘go way’ when he attempts to touch ‘his’ toys.
Poking his wobbly bits when they share a bath.
Patting (or hitting) his head in attempts to pacify him when he is crying.
Physically forcing him to play with his age-inappropriate toys.
Running circles around him till he gets dizzy and falls over.
Continually removing his socks in the middle of winter.

Treatment

These and other offenses have led to the irritability, frustrated cries and attention seeking gestures that are symptomatic of ‘Big Brother Syndrome’. The only known treatment which may reduce the severity of the syndrome is to encourage the ‘Big Brother’ to decrease the problematic actions and increase the positive ones, such as:

Gentle cuddles, sitting down only.
Sharing age-appropriate food and toys.
Kisses on the cheek or forehead.
Holding hands.
Telling stories.
Shooshing baby when he’s upset
Helping mummy fetch things to take care of him

Basically if you treat the toddler the baby with subsequently show a reduction in symptoms. You cannot cure “Big Brother Syndrome” but most babies will eventually grow out of it or learn to manage the symptoms and go on to live a full, happy life!

Thanks

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Blogaversary

16/08/201824/06/2021Jo Caddy

Today marks the one week anniversary of our Mum Life Stories blog! Yipee, happy anniversary to us. We are happy to say that this week we reached 350 views, received our first contribution from a writer, who was the winner of the first hashtag competition and we got connected to many different people through Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

In case you missed it, you can read Tia Burtons story ‘Helicopter Mum’ here and stay tuned for Fun Friday tomorrow when there will be a light-hearted article on ‘The little brother syndrome’ for your reading enjoyment. Thanks for reading our blog posts and don’t forget to follow us on one of the social media channels above. Blessings!

A Mum Life Story from our first hashtag competition winner.

15/08/201824/06/2021Jo Caddy

In the 4 hours leading up to our official site launch, we ran a short competition on Facebook to get people hash tagging Mum Life Stories, in order to find our very first story contributor. We’d like to congratulate Tia Burton on winning the contest and becoming our very first story contributor (outside of our administration) with her story ‘Helicopter Mum’. Please read on to be enveloped in her relatable, thought-provoking tale about two women who share a common stigma, which many mums today and in past decades have been undeservedly labelled with. You can also read the story here in our Flash Fiction library!

Helicopter Mum

Helicopter Parent: “a style of parent who is over focused on their children.”

She sat there, slumped in the kitchen chair enveloped by her own exhaustion, a silhouette of light peered through the kitchen window landing on her tired hollow eyes. Our conversation drove through common places, talking babies, sleep schedules and the emotional exhaustion we both faced. I could hear a distinct heaviness in her heart.

At every conversational turn she began to justify her decisions regarding how she choose to raise her little men, it was as if she was standing before the judge, jury and executioner of the parenting squad. Underneath every justification there appeared to be unspoken wonderings “Is my parenting style just too much?” As I sat at the end of her words, I listened intently to how deeply she adored her babies, I could see her eyes ignite with joy as she shared all about their escapades and yet simultaneously the echoing anxious thoughts ricocheted from her mind and the unnecessary justifications cascaded out.

I realised in that moment she had been conditioned to defend herself before the attacks even began, she was suffocating under the helicopter mum label other ‘laid’ back parents had given her. I could see it, but only because I could see myself in her every justification. As she defended her right to not follow the cry it out method, I was reminded of all the times, I like her had been met with scoffs, snickers and eye rolls for my own parenting decisions.

As we sat there, we marvelled at the beautiful chaos we found ourselves in. Becoming parents meant we believe there is a chance the love we feel for our little ones could cause our hearts to explode. Yet, there is a madness we feel due to carrying the mental load of motherhood. Despite our different approaches to parenting we both felt the pressure of raising babes into functioning adults, and we were also united in our desire to see our children thrive.

However, as she sat there with the sun beaming through the thick glass, the helicopter label she had been given stuck, and she would unknowingly wear it. Despite the differences between us, or the similarities shared we could both agree that when it comes to raising our little ones there is no black or white just numerous shades of grey.

Tia Burton is a warm, energetic, often loud, ambitious and spontaneous wife to Chris, whom she shares the joy of raising their little Elijah. She can be found drifting off in thought, face deep in a tub of ice cream or racing around the place visiting her tribe while trying to cram in enough time to submit her uni assignments. Tia enjoys snuggles with her husband, giggling with her boy, food and all things creative. You can follow their family adventures via her Instagram @tiaburtonn.

Mum Life Micro Stories

14/08/201824/06/2021Jo Caddy

Short stories are a great medium for weaving an exciting tale into a non time consuming format that’s easy to read and won’t steal half your day away. In this day and age with so much information and entertainment at our fingertips, it can be hard as a writer to retain a readers attention for more than a few minutes. Micro Fiction is even shorter with word counts anywhere from 100 to 1000 and they are both a wonderful way for busy readers to get their story fix and fantastic practice for writers to learn how to condense stories in order to get more depth in their narratives. We will be introducing competitions on our site at a later stage with both Micro Stories and Flash Fiction Stories, hopefully with a prize as well as publication on the blog. In the meantime here are two Micro Stories (max length is 250 words) that our administrator Jo Stewart wrote for competitions on Sweek.com (Check out her profile here for more stories.)

This story was written for the #MicroKey competition.

KEY TO MY HEART

“That’s the key to my heart right there!” Liz nodded toward the screen which displayed in amazing clarity the outline of a tiny human skeleton.

“You and your husband must be very proud?” The ultrasound technician smiled, tapping at the keyboard.

Liz felt the sting of mourning return. The day’s events were a welcome distraction, but now fresh tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and drench her crisp white blouse.

“Oh dear, did I upset you?” The technician, a mature lady with dark hair, streaked with silver, handed Liz a tissue as the first tear escaped its shallow confines.

Liz wiped the tear from her cheek. “No, it’s just…my husband passed away 3 months ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

“Thanks! When I found out I was pregnant I felt I was given a piece of him to keep. If it’s a boy, I’ll give him my husband’s name.”

“Oh, what a blessing” she smiled again, turning to the screen in front of her. As she adjusted the transducer on Liz’s abdomen her expression altered.

“Is something wrong?” Liz’s chest tightened with fear.

“No, but your chances of having at least one boy just increased.” Her face beaming as she pointed to a curved line hovering above the baby’s tiny skull. “See that? There’s another baby, hiding behind the first!”

Liz’s joy overwhelmed her and the tears she’d been bravely holding back poured out and flooded her cheeks. The key to her heart was now a twin set.

This story was written for the #MicroGame competition.

A CHILDISH GAME

I lay motionless on the floor. Something was hanging above my face, but I couldn’t focus on it. I tried to reach out but had no control over my body. My arm jerked up and down with my tenacious efforts, fear and insecurity consuming me as I realised it was futile.

My heart beat faster when I noticed I was not alone. “Maybe she’s not ready for this game” I heard a deep, unfamiliar voice say. I felt desperate to know who was in my home, my safe place. I wanted to cry but decided bravery was a better friend.
My heart quickened again as I heard footsteps. Someone else was now in the room. I felt pain in my stomach which gradually intensified as the two talked in hushed tones. No longer able to remain silent, I tried to yell but could not form words, so I cried out anxiously.

Suddenly a shadowy figure moved toward me, bent down and stretched out their arms toward my now stiffened body. What would they do? Take this pain away or prolong it for more agonizing hours? Their face moved closer toward mine and become clearer. I could finally make out their features…it was mummy! She picked me up, held me close and kissed my forehead. I heard her heart beat and smelt her sweet familiar aroma.

“She’s just hungry” she said “it’s time for her feed”.

I was safe once more, in the arms of the one who bore me.

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