Ah, summer! A time for lounging around on deck chairs, enjoying long al fresco lunches, and spending relaxing afternoons in lovely beer gardens. Unless you’ve got small children, of course. The closest you’ll get to a lazy lie-in is giving them an iPad at 5am so you can get an extra ten minutes’ kip. “Chilling out” literally means hanging out in the Sainsbury’s frozen food aisle because you’re all just too bloody hot.

Then there are the ice cream tantrums - the tantrum because they want one, the tantrum because you bought the wrong one, and the tantrum when they inevitably drop it on the floor 45 seconds later. It’s enough to make you want to impale yourself on a Flake.

Of course, there are lots of magical moments too. Whole mornings spent in pyjamas because there’s no rushing out the door to school. Sandy cuddles and salty kisses. Not feeling guilty about drinking rosé at lunchtime. Those dreamy afternoons when none of you can face the heat, or yet another trip to the park, so you just draw the curtains and watch CBeebies for three hours, and everyone’s happy.

But the fact is, summer is also a prime time for parenting fails. Trying to get through August can make you feel like you’re in an extra long episode of The Apprentice, being tasked with one impossible mission after another. How do you keep a three-year old entertained for two hours while you wait for your delayed plane to leave the runway, when your bag contains only an old Volvic bottle, four broken crayons, and a dirty sock? What do you do with twin six-year olds on a wet Tuesday, when you’ve run out of ideas by 9.15am?

It’s enough to make you long for Sir Alan to fire you, so you can run away from it all with your wheely suitcase in a black cab.

And if you’re the parent of a toddler, you have to suffer being told on a daily basis how you should be potty training your child, because it’s the summer, so they can run around in the nude, and somehow magically work out how to use the toilet. This is not the reality. For most of us potty training involves endless begging, bribing with a hundredweight of chocolate buttons, and accepting the fact kids like to save up all their wee for the minute they are strapped into their car seat.

Some of our favourite Scummy Mummy Confessions shared by our audience members involve potty training. There’s the mum whose daughter needed a poo on a train where there were no toilets - “So I let her do it in my friend’s Tupperware box. My friend forgot, and it was in her handbag for a week.”

Or how about this fond memory: “While visiting a bathroom showroom one day, our son wandered off and reappeared a few minutes later. We asked where he’d been, and he told us he’d gone to have a poo, pointing at one of the display loos. We ran away.”
 
So how do you survive potty training? Well, our top tip is to get a reward chart. Not for the kids, but yourself. If you can get through a day without saying, “Do you need a wee wee?” more than a hundred times, give yourself a gold star. Or even better, a glass of wine. Cleaning the potty within four hours of use deserves a G&T. And if you manage to convince your colleague that stain on your trousers is actually chocolate, pour yourself a pint of prosecco.
 
Fitted rubber sheets are your friend - layer them on, so if you need to rip one off in the middle of the night there’s a clean one underneath, ready to go. Invest in a load of cheap pants so you don’t feel guilty about chucking them away. And give in to the temptation to use Haribo and Smarties as rewards - this is only a phase, it won’t last forever.
 
If your child is a fan of Bing on CBeebies, like ours, you might also want to check out the new Fisher Price Toilet Train Bing toy. Bing announces when he needs to go to the loo, and your mission is to sit him on his little plastic toilet before it’s too late. You should find it’s a real hit with your family thanks to kids’ endless fascination with pee and toilet noises. Even Ellie’s husband thinks it’s hilarious.
 
Acamar Films, the producers of Bing, have kindly sponsored this blog post, and they’re also organising a very special competition that we’re launching this week.  We want to find the humour in those moments that might otherwise tip us parents over the edge.  So tell us about your current parenting ‘challenges’ whether that’s a summer holiday fail, potty training-related or otherwise. Just share a photo that demonstrates your parenting fail  on Instagram, include the tags @scummymummies, @BingBunny, #WhatWouldFlopDo, and tag two friends who might want to join in.
 
The winner (as judged by the Scummy Mummies) will receive a special visit from Bing and Flop to their nursery or preschool, together with some fabulous Bing goodies.
 
We’ll announce the winning #WhatWouldFlopDo post on 15 August. Visit http://bit.ly/2ttJX15
for full terms and conditions. Good luck everyone!
 
#WhatWouldFlopDo

Helen writes:

​When I think of yoga, the image that flashes into my tired mum brain is of an elegant woman, standing on her head and bending herself into the shape of a pretzel, next to an elaborate Japanese water feature. I am nothing like this woman. In fact, thanks to the state of my pelvic floor after two childbirths, I have more in common with the water feature.
 
As a voluptuous and lazy person, the thought of trying to touch my toes fills me with dread. Sure, I can fanny about in a gold leotard all day long, but stick me in a fitness class and I get that weird sicky feeling. I know my 38 year-old body won't bend like it's supposed to, and then of course there's the ultimate terror: the public fart. Why are they always so much louder than the ones you do at home?
 
I have loads of friends who bang on about how wonderful yoga is, and how great they feel afterwards, blah blah blah. But surely it can't feel better than eating half a packet of Jaffa Cakes in front of Homes Under the Hammer?
 
However, I know from experience that I am not always right. Things I have been wrong about in the past have included undercut hairstyles, clear Coca-cola, and the potential career longevity of the band 5ive. Now that I'm a bit older, I'm not afraid to swallow my pride, or suck in my stomach. So I decided to give this bendy exercise a half-assed go.
 
Specifically, I signed up for yogaia.com. They offer online classes that are easy to fit into your schedule. More importantly, they allow you to try yoga without leaving the house, so you can wear your favourite holey old jogging bottoms, and fart as much as you like. I did a 15 minute class using the Yogaia app on my phone, and it was great. And afterwards, I only had to take eight steps to my fridge so I could reward myself with a big glass of Chardonnay. WINNING.
 
In all seriousness, doing yoga wasn't nearly as scary as I thought, and for once I actually felt like I'd achieved something. I like that there are lots of different classes to choose from, too. The guided meditation was a godsend following a stressful half-term trip to McDonald's that involved two tantrums and a row over a trip to the toilet, then a pee in a Lego Batman cup during the drive home.
 
So if, like me, you're interested in yoga, but lazy and flatulent, why not give Yogaia a go? They've sponsored our podcast this month, and are offering you the chance to try out the classes for a whole month, free of charge. Just visit www.yogaia.com/scummymummies to sign up.

​Dear Bridget,
 
I remember the first time we met, back when I was a student. A friend rushed over to me and shoved a dog-eared copy of your diary into my hand. "You have to read this - NOW!" she screeched. I was always happy to have an excuse not to attend tutorials, so I rushed back to halls. I gobbled up every delicious page in one afternoon.
 
OK, so we didn't technically meet, what with me being far away in Australia, and you being a fictional character. But from that moment, Ms Jones, you became a massive part of my life. It felt like I knew you, as if you were one of those friends who is always there to hold your hair back after a party, provide comfort after a break-up, or just knock back a large bottle of Sauv blanc while wearing jogging bottoms.
 
Every time I needed you, there you were. Flicking through the pages of your diary was like having a rock solid buddy whispering in my ear, "Don't worry, we all fuck up, but its going to be OK!" You were our champion of singletons, our patron saint of happy awkward women, our super hero in big pants.
 
On top of all that, you made a refreshing change from Kate Moss and the other waifs who dominated the catwalks and the media back in the nineties. With their skinny jeans and stringy underwear, it felt like they were mocking our big bums and rounded thighs.
 
But then along came you, Bridget - this gorgeous, voluptuous woman who knew her way round a crap Christmas jumper and celebrated giant knickers in all their comfy, absorbent glory. You gave us permission to stop sucking our stomachs in and pour ourselves another wine. I embraced the M&S "Full Brief" cut - wearing my "Bridget Pants" made me feel invincible on the inside, even as I made yet more disastrous life choices and blagged my way through the noughties.
 
Now me and the rest of the Bridget generation are hitting our forties. Many of us have made the move into the "smug marrieds" category, but to be honest, it's not all its cracked up to be - especially for those of us with kids. Because it's hard to feel smug when you've got sick in your hair, and have been wearing the same yoga pants for six days in a row.
 
The transition from free and fabulous singleton to a world of nipple cream and muslin squares is not pretty. Life is now messy in a whole new way. Those wild nights out with the girls go the way of our pert boobs and pelvic floors. Our Bridget lives are ending - or so I thought.
 
But then I was overjoyed to find you were coming back, and with a baby to boot. It was like you were turning up at my house with a freshly backed lasagne, a giant Toblerone, and a box of Sainsbury's house white. My old friend was returning to my bosom, and she wasn't going to mind the fact it now looked like a pair of spaniel's ears.
 
I decided to celebrate the occasion in the appropriate style. I downloaded the new movie, booted the hubby and the kids out of the house, and curled up on the sofa in my PJs. It was just like the old days - I laughed like a honking goose, and cried happy tears like Gwyneth. Thank goodness for panty liners and that roll of loo paper I keep on the coffee table for snotty noses.
 
Once again, it feels like you're right on time. The rise of yummy mummies and perfect #instamums is out of hand. Soft-focused photos of happy pregnant women and #blessed family portraits aren't telling the whole truth - our scummy truth.
 
Whatever our circumstances - whether we are single, married or don't know who the father of our child is - parenthood is often a heady mix of complicated joy and abject fear. It's a journey into the unknown, but supportive girlfriends can be a huge help, and we can get through it, one overflowing nappy and supermarket tantrum at a time.
 
So thank you, Bridget, for coming back to us, and being just as hilarious, honest and wonderful as always. You remain our hero in big pants, and we love you... Just as you are.
 
Love Helen X

This blog was sponsored by the digital release of Bridget Jones's Baby. The Blu-ray and DVD aren't out till 30 January, but you can buy the download right now via iTunes, Amazon Video, Sky Store and Google Play.

We're on Twitter (@scummymummies), Instagram, and Facebook.
Please send your confessions to scummymummiespodcast@gmail.com. If you like our podcast, do tell your friends! 

You can listen to our special Bridget Jones's Podcast - featuring the director Sharon Maguire.
 
**BUY OUR BOOK!** The Scummy Mummies book is out on 9 March, but you can order yours now via Amazon!

Helen writes:
Is it just me, or have birthday parties come a long way since we were kids? Back in the eighties, I’m pretty sure we were happy with pass the parcel and food with enough colouring to dye all the flags for Pride. These days it’s all bouncy castles in church halls, face painting, pinatas, gluten-free fairy cakes, and men called Ian pretending they’re qualified to do “Jedi training” because they’re wearing a brown dressing gown.

The quest for ever more exotic entertainment may explain how last weekend, we ended up seeing the same Snake Guy at two separate parties. My seven-year-old daughter sat in the front row each time, eyes wide, mouth agape, hand shooting up to volunteer to hold whatever was wriggling away in the lumpy pillow case.

“Look, mum! I’m holding the head!” She screamed in delight. I gave her a thumbs up and a beaming smile, from the sensible distance of 17 meters away. We may share the same DNA, but a love of snakes and scary stuff? Forget it.

I thought that becoming a mother would turn me into some kind of fearless warrior - and it has, in some situations. When it comes to protecting my children, I’d happily run across a motorway or jump out of a plane; I’d think nothing of wrestling a tiger, or a deputy head. I have no fear of staring down that huffy puffy couple at the next table, who tut as they judge me for letting my kids have an iPad in a restaurant. (If they get really huffy, I take away the iPad, and let them enjoy my kids loudly asking where poo comes from while repeatedly knocking their cutlery on the floor. Then they’re sorry.)

I also knew how I wanted my children to see me - as a brave superhero, untroubled by creepy crawlies or things that go bump in the night. I would be that kind of Alpha Mum who laughs in the face of fear, and tackles life’s challenges head-on. Basically, I thought I’d be some sort of cross between Bear Grylls, Wonder Woman, and Kirstie Allsopp.

How wrong I was. The reality is, I can usually be found hiding behind the sofa when Doctor Who’s on. The sight of a single mouse dropping can send me jumping on a chair clutching my apron strings, like I’m in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. (Except no one wears aprons in 2016, apart from Kirstie Allsopp, so more usually I’m clutching the hem of my Primark cardigan.)

But when it comes to being frightened of bugs and the like, I think my fears are justified - I grew up in rural Australia, where we were taught that anything with either no legs or more than four WILL kill you. And look at our so-called family entertainment - Crocodile Dundee. Oh, the horror.
I know most of my fears are irrational, though, as my kids are always pointing out. “Mum, calm down, it’s just a story… Mum, relax, the nice man is going to catch the nasty ghost... Seriously, Mum, the Marshmallow Man is supposed to be funny…”

OK, so getting the heeby jeebies over Ghostbusters is pretty pathetic. Unfortunately for me, that’s exactly the kind of film our kids always pick for our regular Friday movie night. Strangely, they will always opt for Harry Potter or Star Wars over my suggestions of Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music.  I just don’t get it - why would you choose being scared over watching a bunch of kids dressed in curtains sing their way through the Nazi occupation of Austria? They’re really missing out.

My daughter in particular has a thing for the Goosebumps books, and loves the new movie tie-in. I watched the whole thing with her, and didn’t even hide behind the sofa or disappear to make an 18 minute cup of tea once. I wasn’t a huge fan of the abominable snowmen, or the weird ventriloquist’s dummy, but it helped that the film stars Jack Black as author R. L. Stine, and there are lots of references for adults. And I liked the fact Goosebumps isn’t just about spooky stuff - it deals with themes like friendship and love, as well as loss and loneliness. Now THOSE things are frightening.

Of course there’s a part of me that wishes my daughter would happily sit down with me in front of Show Boat. But at the same time, I’m proud that she loves scary things, that she’s so courageous, and that she and her brother play such imaginative games. It’s a relief they’re not all about handsome princes or happily ever afters. I’d much rather watch them create magical lands populated by Cybermen, unicorns who shoot lasers out of their eyes, and an evil kangaroo warlord called Roger.
​
Learning to be scared and survive is part of growing up. So I’ll keep letting my kids watch these films, and I’ll be watching with them. Maybe they’ll make me a little braver, too.

This post is sponsored by Goosebumps, out on 30th May on Blu-ray & DVD.
Watch an exclusive clip from the Blu-ray. 
​
A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. ​​

Dear Jamie Oliver,

We know you’re getting it in the neck at the moment. Everyone’s saying you’ve got no right to tell women about breastfeeding, just because you’ve never done it, and you don’t have boobs, or any real authority to comment on the subject whatsoever.

But we’re on your side, Jamie! Ever since you told us how to shove a lemon up a chicken’s backside, we’ve trusted that you know the right way to handle raw breasts. In fact, we’d also love to know Greg Wallace’s views on co-sleeping, and we’d happily leave the decision about whether to have a home or hospital birth up to Ainsley Harriott. (Although we’ve heard quite enough on the subject of placentas from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, thanks very much.)

So don’t listen to the haters. There’s just not enough pressure on women these days. If there’s one thing we need, it’s more men telling us what we’re doing wrong - and that it will have terrible consequences. You go, guy!

Jools must be so proud. What wife wouldn’t love her husband talking about other women’s tits in the national media? In the name of equality, perhaps she could start speaking out on erectile dysfunction. Or maybe she could go on Loose Women and demonstrate how men ought to shave their balls?

Anyway, Jamie, seeing as you’re so keen to dole out advice, we thought it might be nice to return the favour. So here’s some top tips on how to live YOUR life, from the Scummy Mummies!

1 Just use a stock cube

Seriously, why are you still bothering to boil up whole chickens and shit? Just get some Knorr in.

2 Blondes have more fun

We hope you don't mind if we talk about your body, but we’re not sure about what you've done with your hair. Brunette does suit you, and it says you're serious about woman's health issues, and sugar. But to be honest, we preferred it when you had blonde highlights, and went round riding a moped and banging on about pukka pesto, instead of our milkshakes.

3 Screw 15 minute meals - try 90 seconds!

We appreciate your efforts to invent quick and easy recipes for us busy mums - but it with all this breastfeeding you want us to do, it can be hard to even find 15 minutes! Try keeping it even simpler. Ketchup on toast makes an ideal dinner, or jazz it up with some microwaved fish fingers. In fact, with summer coming, why bother cooking them? “Here you are darling, Captain Birdseye sashimi!”

4 Look at the bigger picture

It was great to see you so happy about the Tories introducing a tax on fizzy drinks. Sure, it’ll save the NHS loads of money. But think about it like this - all our teeth are going to fall out anyway, because in a few years there won’t BE any NHS, and all the dentists will have moved to Canada with the junior doctors! Ha ha ha.

5 Calm down, dear

In all honesty, Jamie, we do love your work, and we know your heart is in the right place. We believe you when you say you never meant to make anyone feel bad. But we are worried you’re taking on a bit too much. Books, restaurants, telly shows, and now all this campaigning…

As mums, we know the more you try to do at once, the worse everything gets. Ever tried to cook dinner while breastfeeding, wiping a toddler’s bottom, dealing with the plumber, and combing out nits? That’s right - you end up with breastmilk soup for tea, and poo all over the walls. At least the plumber ends up lice-free. Anyway, Jamie, stick to what you’re good at - banoffee pie and baba ganoush - and stop worrying about our bangers!

Well, there you go - hope you don’t mind the barrage of unwanted advice on subjects we know little of and are totally unqualified to speak about. Loving your work!
Lots of love,

The Scummy Mummies xxx

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. ​​

​Ah, Mother's Day. The joy of awakening to breakfast in bed, flowers, a pile of gifts in pastel-coloured wrapping paper, and an array of lovingly homemade cards.
 
That's the Instagram version, anyway. In reality, the best most of us can hope for is a cup of tea and a box of Ferrero Rocher. And while homemade cards are lovely, those online photos never show the kitchen covered in Pritt Stick and glitter.   
 
So what does Mother's Day mean to you? The Scummy Mummies asked some of their favourite writers, authors and podcast guests to share their thoughts.

Bryony Gordon, Telegraph columnist, author of The Wrong Knickers and mother of one
Episode 42: Sex, Drugs and Mr Tumble
​
"For my first Mother's Day, almost three years ago, I got a mug bearing the legend 'SLUMMY MUMMY' on it. I like to give it to blokes who come round and watch them look embarrassed as they drink their tea. Last year, I think I got a wilted daffodil in the SLUMMY MUMMY mug. This year, who know what mug-related joys I can expect... Perhaps my daughter will 'accidentally' smash it, which would be a gift in itself."

​Steve Hill, stay-at-home dad, journalist and father of one
Episode 22: Father's Day Special
 
"It's just another made-up day, like Christmas and Easter, that involves pissing away money on pointless cards and gifts. Falling on a Sunday, it also involves being dragged away from the sanctuary of Sky Sports in order to "do something nice." What I want to know is: when is there going to be a Father's Day?"

Nurse Jessie, health visitor and lecturer, mother of two
Episode ​8: Boobs Special
Episode 19: Discipline Special
 
"Mother's Day reminds me of the little things that I enjoy about being a mum, daughter, grand-daughter, and to celebrate the link through generations. Also, flowers (but preferably not cutesy teddy bears.)"

​Dawn Isaac, garden designer, author of 100 Things to do Outside and 100 Things to do on a Rainy Day, and mother of three
Episode 32: Gardening Special
 
"Mother's Day means eight hours of guilt-free gardening. And guilt-free anything in motherhood is a rare and delicious pleasure.  Plus, of course I get breakfast in bed – and a selection of homemade cards. And they HAVE to be homemade. The day I get a shop-bought one I am resigning. On the spot."

Clemmie Hooper, midwife, writer and mother of four
Gas and Air Blog
Episode 14:Pregnancy Special
 
"I remember, when I was 10, asking my mum why there wasn't a children's day in the year. She declared, "Every day is children's day!" Now I can see how all-consuming being a mother is, often without much recognition. I'm trying to base my mothering on the wonderful Marmee from Little Women - who never loses her temper or misses anything, and protects her daughters while allowing to learn from their own mistakes.
 
"So next time I'm checking one daughter's bottom for worms, attempting to sound interested in the other one's Vikings project, and trying to remember which twin last fed on which boob - I'll think of that question I asked my mother, realise how unintentionally selfish children are, and that they won't get it till they become mothers themselves. But to be honest, I'm not even sure I get it now." 

Stuart Heritage, Guardian columnist and father of one 
Man with a Pram
Episode 35: Fatherhood, X-Factor and Nigella's Toilet
​Episode 56: ​Mr and Mrs Special

"Now that I'm a parent, Mother's Day means that I have to buy a present for my wife, three weeks after Valentine's Day and three weeks before Easter. All I do is buy that bloody woman presents now, and we'll be destitute soon because of it, and I hope she's grateful."

​Carolyn Robertson, author of Two Dads and Two Mums and a Menagerie, and mother of two
Sparkly Poo Blog 
Episode 41: LGBT Adoption Special  
 
"As a Mum to two adopted boys, Mother’s day is double-edged. On the one hand I feel proud and happy to be a mum, and on the other I spare a thought for our boys' birth mums, who haven’t had the opportunity to see these lovely little fellas thrive. I also wonder how it makes our boys feel inside. It’s not the most comfortable day for our family."

Helen McGinn, wine expert, author of The Knackered Mother's Wine Club and mother of three
Knackered Mother's Wine Clug Blog
Episode 28: Wine Special 
Episode 53: Best of the Summer Wine Special
 
"For me, Mother’s Day means a cup of tea in bed, a few homemade cards, cooking lunch for my mum, and us not having to do the washing up. Also: champagne, always."

​Scummy Mummy Helen
 
"For me, Mother's Day does not bring many surprises. My darling children love to tell me in advance what ALL my presents are, so I know I will be opening a Terry's Chocolate Orange this Sunday, and reading 'I luv you Mummy xxx' on a Sainsbury's card. I don't actually like surprises, but I do like chocolate, so I am thrilled.
 
"I always like to spend some time on Mother's Day thinking about how I became a mum - that special night when I went to the pub, then came home and shagged a handsome 31 year-old. Now that's a tradition I'd like to recreate every year." 

Scummy Mummy Ellie
 
"This Mother's Day, I am driving an excitable Australian on a 200 mile round trip to perform jokes about tits and nappies in a cafe in Stroud. Weirdly, I can think of few more enjoyable ways to spend the day."
​
Come and see us live, this Mother's Day! Sunday 6 March, 4pm at the Black Book Cafe. Get your tickets now!

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. ​​

Hi guys. Rod and Rod here, otherwise known as the Right-On Dads. We're totally honoured to be writing a guest blog for the Scummy Mummies, because we really like women. In fact, we put the "men" in "fe-men-ist".

Now, obviously, Valentine's Day is a capitalist construct designed to promote and galvanise the patriarchal hierarchy, but that shouldn't stop us celebrating it, according to our wives.

So we've put together some gift ideas for the modern man. 
​
​Make An Effort 
Make sure you're nice and relaxed for your Valentine's Day by treating yourself to a "man"icure. Glittery beards are all the rage now, but why not stop there? Stick some fairy lights in your man bun, or get a manjazzle.

Go With The Flow​
If you're looking for a gift that keeps on giving, why not buy her a mooncup? This will show you understand about periods, and care about bleeding, but also the environment. 

Say It With Flour 
Forget fresh blooms - they're hugely expensive, unless you can pick your own from your allotment, or someone else's. Women love baking, so why not go for actual flour? For extra romance, we'd choose spelt. 

Paint The Town Beige
Chocolate body paint is so nineties, and hey, it's no good if you're vegan. Why not try hummus? It's perfect for playing our fave boudoir game, "Dick Tease With Chick Peas". This is also an ideal opportunity for a quick round of "Hide The Breadstick". 

Surprise Surprise! 
Surprise your partner with something unexpected, like a new cookery book, hand cream,
​or a vasectomy.

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. ​​

​As Scummy Mummies, we're proud to wear our pyjamas for the school run - and we don't care what certain head teachers have to say about it. But just because you're lazy, doesn't mean you can't be stylish. So here are some ideas for making that morning look even more fashion forward.

Look 1: "Incognito" 
This is a great look to start with if you're new to wearing your PJs in public. Hide your shame with a stylish hat and some customised shades, and hey presto! No one will ever know it's you. 

Look 2: "Party Girl"
Straight from disco to drop-off! Give the impression that you've come straight from a fabulous all-nighter. Add a suitcase, and you can pretend you just got off the plane from Ayia Napa. 

Look 3: "The Middleton"
Demure, sophisticated, elegant - this look is easily achieved with a classy hat. For extra style ​points, borrow your husband's dressing gown, and tell everyone it's "Balmoral check."​

Look 4: "Blonde Ambition"
Inspired by another great style icon, this look is great for propping up post-breastfeeding boobs. Just make sure you wear it with attitude, or you'll just look like you work in a call centre. 

Look 5: "Strictly Mum Dancing"
Slip on some satin and waltz your way to the school gates in this jazzy number. A pair of Marigolds make ideal "evening gloves." 

Look 6: "Rich Bitch"
Pretend you're fabulously wealthy with some subtle accessorising. This look works especially well if you want the neighbours to think your kids go to private school. 

Look 7: "Whatever the Fuck You Want"
The important thing is that your kids get to school on time. As long as you achieve that, it's really nobody's business whether you're wearing a ball gown or a bin bag. Here at the Scummy Mummies, we prefer gold Lycra catsuits - they're glamorous, flattering, and wipe clean. But ultimately, wear whatever the fuck you want.
​
A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. ​

Hello, fellow Scummy Mummies! And an extra special hello to our new listeners. Seems like quite a few of you have tuned in since hearing about our podcast on Woman's Hour, so welcome!

With more than 60 episodes in our back catalogue, you might be wondering where to start. So we've put together a list of our top 10 shows - the ones that we think represent the full Scummy spectrum, and will give you a good flavour of what the podcast's all about. We hope you enjoy them! 

Educating Stephen Fry, teaching Salman Rushdie the limbo, asking Prince William if he wants tongues... It's all in a day's work for the fabulous Kathy Lette! Kathy tells us what inspires her, and why mothers never get writer's block. 

​We have full and frank discussion about sex, with expert advice from fanny physio Sarah Lorentzen. She gives us her top tips for keeping your downstairs in shape and having sex after childbirth. 

This episode features the fabulous wine expert, Helen McGinn. Helen tells us all about her award-winning blog and best-selling book, The Knackered Mother's Wine Club. 

Acting, accents, having kids and losing your on-screen virginity to Jane Horrocks - this episode covers all these topics and more! With four children and over a decade of parenting experience under his belt, Shaun gives us his top tips for raising kids. 

In this episode we talk to Jane Garvey, presenter of Woman's Hour on BBC Radio 4. She tells us what goes on behind the scenes in Broadcasting House, and reveals the guests she gets nervous about interviewing. 

We talk about what it means to be a dad, with stay-at-home dad Steve Hill, but of course it's not long before the whole thing descends into nonsense. There's some top chat about the price of Lynx, the World Cup and a real-life encounter with Mr. T. ​

Jo tells us what goes on behind the scenes at Glamour and shares an intimate moment she had with Guy Pearce. She also reveals why every woman's magazine editor needs an army of gays. 

Our guest is the fabulous Bryony Gordon, Telegraph  columnist and author of The Wrong Knickers - A Decade of Chaos. We cover some pretty grown-up subjects, from illegal highs and racy underwear to who is fitter out of Bloom or Tumble.

This episode's special guest is Clemmie Hooper, midwife, mum and author of the hit blog, Gas and Air. Helen and Ellie share some of their own labour experiences - tune in to find out why one of them will never again be able to enjoy the music of Bon Jovi. 

In this episode, Ellie discusses the surprise early arrival of her new baby, Joe. Then there's some chat about the highlights of our Scummy year, including best and worst gigs. 

And some more...
​It's been hard to choose ten! So here are some more fabulous guests to have a listen to - comedians Sandi Toksvig and David Baddiel, actor Charlie Condou, Nurse Jessie and Doctor Greg, and columnists Suzanne Moore, Lucy Mangan and Sali Hughes.

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. ​

Just because a kid was made by your body, with your DNA, there are no guarantees they will be anything like you. Or that they will like the things you like. Let's be frank, sometimes this really sucks balls. Why won't my daughter wear jeans? Why doesn't my son appreciate Chess: The Musical? Why won't they at least try curry sauce on their chips? Shouldn't they have downloaded all this shit during the nine months they were in my womb?
 
I know, I should embrace my children's wonderful unpredictability and respect their individual choices. Even if those choices involve wearing revolting polyester dresses and spending four hours watching YouTube videos of diggers.
 
And to be fair, they have introduced me to a whole new world. I used to be into classical music and gourmet food. Now I'm happy to nod along to One Direction, and eat chicken nuggets the exact shape and colour of Donald Trump's hair.
 
All the same, I can't help feeling a rush of joy when my kids express a liking for something I adored before they were born. I call this the Love Snap. It's that moment when they hear ABBA on the radio and start dancing like lunatics, or properly laugh at The Simpsons, or take their first bite of a Peppermint Aero and run around shouting, "I LOVE THIS!" It just makes my heart want to burst.
 
It's important, though, to respond carefully. Don't do what I do and reply in a massively over-enthusiastic fashion: "YEAH! Isn't it like THE BEST THING EVER???!!!!", so that your kids stop dancing or laughing or eating, and stare at you like the giant weirdo you are. We must remember that as mums, we have the power to make something horrendously uncool and unloved in an instant.
 
Now my kids are four and seven, I treasure each Love Snap moment and hold on to them tightly. I am all too aware that the teenage years are looming. I am bracing myself for all the slamming doors and swearing. I remember being 15, and if my kids are anything like me, they will want to be nothing like me. It's normal, and with a bit of luck, we'll get through it.
 
In recent years, the really great thing has been rediscovering Love Snap moments with my own mother. Now we're older, wiser, and have both been through the experience of parenting, we have discovered new shared loves. I finally understand the wonders of a proper cup of tea, Fortnum and Mason's scones and nice linen.
True, I don't think my mum will ever share a bowl of chips and curry sauce with me. But the more time passes, the more important those Love Snap moments with both my parents and my kids become. Perhaps DNA is stronger than I thought.

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. 

Juggling motherhood and a career can be tough, according to every article about juggling motherhood and a career ever. This is also the subject of new Meryl Streep movie Ricki and the Flash. But it's important to remember that being a parent can have its advantages in the workplace. If you thought you were good at multi-tasking before you had kids, just wait till you have to combine board meetings and spreadsheets with breastfeeding, nappy changing, and nits.
​
Here's the Scummy Mummies guide to how to make the most of your newfound parenting skills at work.  
 
Simplify That Morning Routine
 
Being a parent forces you to prioritise what's important at the start of the day. It can be a struggle to achieve the perfect blow dry and flawless make-up while trying to persuade a toddler to eat his breakfast instead of the remote control, and wiping poo off the radiator. The smart mum knows it's easier to hide that unwashed hair under a hat, such a stylish beret. Or solve two problems at once with a sombrero - it will balance out those dark circles, so there's no need for all that Yves Saint Laurent Touche Eclat. Which you can't afford any more anyway, because of the nanny.
 
Be Fashion Forward
 
Parenting provides the perfect opportunity to overhaul your personal style by exploring the world of accessories. Brooches, scarves, and giant necklaces are great for covering snot stains. They also act as a distraction, drawing your colleagues' attention away from the Weetabix stuck to your bottom.
 
Save Time In Meetings
 
Now you're a parent you don't have time to waste, but you do have ways to move things along. If you ever need to bring a boring work conversation to an end, just start showing the person pictures of your kids. You can also shut down meetings pretty quickly by talking about your suspected prolapse.
 
Planned Parenthood  
 
As a parent, you learn to be a master of scheduling. It's not just meetings and conference calls - you're also keeping track of ballet lessons and school plays, while factoring in time to do the supermarket shop, and fight with your husband. Show off about how busy you are by buying an expensive, leather-bound family planner with 28 individually tabbed sections. It will make you look super-organised and competent for those two weeks before you lose it, the dog eats it, or the kids set fire to it.
 
Caffeine Is King
 
People without kids often just see coffee as a drink. The rest of us understand it is the elixir of life. You will develop an encyclopedic knowledge of every Costa Coffe and Caffe Nero within 500 metres of the office. You will know exactly how many Nespresso pods are in the office kitchen at any moment. Your colleagues will ensure the stock is regularly topped up, because no one wants a repeat of the day you were found weeping under the sink, threatening to punch everyone in the face.
 
Treat Colleagues Like Toddlers
 
If a workmate is disagreeing with you, use your the same voice you use on your kids to explain calmly but authorititavely why they're talking shit. Encourage your subordinates to hit deadlines by telling them to get the work done by the time you count to three. Putting colleagues on the naughty step is probably taking it too far, but there's nothing wrong with rewarding a job well done with a Wow card and a packet of chocolate buttons.
 
Prioritise After-Work Socialising
 
Now you're going straight home after work to see the kids, you can feel smug every morning when your workmates turn up hungover, complaining about how that cheeky pint turned into an all-nighter. They don't know you sank an entire bottle of Sauvignon blanc between bedtime and passing out on the sofa at 9.30pm.
 
Save up all your after-work alcohol units for those big occasions. There's nothing like spending the work Christmas party telling all your colleagues what's wrong with your marriage,  or informing the keynote speaker at that important conference that you haven't had sex for six months.
 
Accept The Mess
 
The truth is, trying to be a great working mother is bloody hard. You'll always struggle to stay calm in the face of tantrums, fighting, generally unreasonable behaviour, and no one ever flushing the toilet - and then you have to deal with it all again when you get home. Accept the fact you'll never be a perfect mother or a faultless colleague, and that life is always going to be messy. Pour yourself another glass of wine and rest assured that just like everyone else, you're doing the best job you can. 

Merry Christmas! We're taking a break from blogging this week, but you can hear us getting all festive with our Christmas podcast, below. And if you're a new listener, why not check out our Christmas podcasts from 2013 and 2014? 

Thank you to everyone who has listened to us bang on this year! We hope you have an amazing Christmas and a fantastic New Year. 

Love the Scummy Mummies xxx

Helen writes:
​
Hooray, it's nearly Christmas! Time to dig out those elastic-waisted trousers and dive into excess. Put your salad in the bin and cover your greens in butter. Rejoice in the mountains of mince pies, the pints of Baileys, and the sides of gammon bigger than your own head. Silence that mid-morning tummy rumble with an entire packet of After Eights, and let's wobble all the way to the 25th!
 
And don't feel guilty about it - you need to keep your energy up. For parents, December is a multi-event assault course. There's the sprint from work to the Nativity play, then the childcare relay race so Daddy can make the office party, followed by hurdling the Post Office queue, climbing the wall of shoppers in Sainsbury's, and the marathon run home to catch that three-minute window for the John Lewis delivery. When it comes to exercise, there's nothing more motivating than thinking about what will happen if you fail to take possession of that Lego Millennium Falcon.
 
The fact is, there is something truly wonderful about having a whole month to indulge in life's joys - specifically, the joys of food, wine, laughing, and sitting down. Sure, I like swapping fairly useless presents as much as the next person, but for me the real miracle of Christmas is the pleasure you get from sharing piles of guilt-free food with friends and loved ones.
 
In my house, the whole of December is a delicious mess - like Eton mess, but with twice as much cream. So, as a proud Scummy Mummy, I have decided this season needs a new name: Christmess. The laundry doesn't get done, the floor doesn't get swept, the bathtime routine goes out the window, and bedtime is negotiable. But we are happy, sat on the sofa in a sugar-induced coma, watching the Strictly final, cuddling, and smiling. What could be better than that? Merry Christmess to all the scummy parents of the world. 

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. Merry Christmas! ​
​

​Christmas is a time for treating the ones you love to a bit of luxury. And what could be more luxurious than losing your womb lining every 28 days? Not pistachio nuts, crocodile meat, bingo or flapjacks - these are all classed as essential items by the government, and exempt from VAT. Unlike tampons and sanitary towels, of course! So we've put together a range of festive feminine hygiene products to make this Christmas extra special. 

Luxury Hamper

​Forget smoked salmon, forget champagne - here's the ultimate in luxury, a hamper stuffed with tampons and sanitary pads. Move over, Fortnum & Mason!

​Padmina

​Never mind that cashmere wrap you were coveting - the padmina is soft, warm, AND absorbent. Oh, the opulence! 

Liberty Print Sanitary Towel

​Because who wouldn't want to bleed on a William Morris? The beauty is in the lavish detailing - for example, the wings are made from swans' feathers. Nothing like a bit of down for your downstairs. 

​Mufflinks

Men can be difficult to buy gifts for, but now that problem is solved with these elegant mufflinks. Perfect for that Christmas party or job interview!

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. Merry Christmas! ​

It's official: Christmas is fucked. Black Friday has ruined it by sending us all into a frenzy, convinced we must buy loads of crap NOW NOW NOW because it says so on the internet. Whatever happened to writing a nice list of thoughtfully chosen presents? Then losing that list, and spending 24 December in John Lewis, panic buying socks and candles? That's the real spirit of Christmas.
 
Let's be honest - once you're a grown-up, it's not about the presents anyway. It's about watching telly, eating ham by the kilo and drinking Baileys by the pint. I have enough pashminas and hand cream to last me until I'm dead. I'm not sure how much warmer and moister I can get.
 
So frankly, Black Friday can go in the bin. Here's what I really want for Christmas - no fistfights in Argos required.
 
1. My kids to flush the toilet.
Truly, it would be a Christmas miracle to go into the loo and see no evidence of previous use.   
 
2. To watch a film.
I'd like to get through one whole movie without being interrupted, or falling asleep and waking up on a cushion covered in drool as the credits roll.
 
3. Sleep.
What I wouldn't give for a full night's shut-eye. And, for an extra stocking filler, to wake up with a bacon sandwich, in SILENCE.
 
4. Sex.
Proper sex. Before midnight. While sober.
 
5. Health.
I'd love it for everyone in my house to remain free of nits, colds and disease for the entire festive season. If this isn't possible, I'd be happy if people just used tissues for their own noses.
 
6. A bath.
A nice long one, with no visitors who think it's fun to hop in and do a wee on my leg. If you really want to spoil me, I'd like to do a solo poo, without observers, commentary, or anyone asking how long I'm going to be.
 
7. Not to feel like I live with Jay Rayner and A. A. Gill.
Just once, I'd like to make and serve an entire meal without anyone complaining about the taste, ingredients, temperature, colour, or the fact their plate features Elsa instead of Anna. And I'd like to consume my own food without once having to leave my chair, or give myself indigestion by speed eating.   
 
8. Better shoe management.
I'd swap every present under the tree for a promise that my husband will never leave his shoes in front of the sofa EVER AGAIN. And just once, I'd like my kids to respond to the instruction "Put your shoes on" by actually putting their shoes on. WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD?
                                                                  
9. Supermarket
It would be great to go to the supermarket without anyone having a breakdown (me) or a tantrum (the kids.) (All right, me as well.)
 
10. To drink ALL THE WINE.
And wake up in January.
 
So what's on your Christmas list?

Helen writes:
 
Parenthood changes your relationship with your partner in so many ways. Don't focus on the loss of your carefree romantic lifestyle - think about what you're gaining. Who needs sex and laughter when you've got fish fingers and fighting?
 
Sure, before kids, you were free to stay out till dawn, have sex whenever you felt like it, and eat an entire meal without anyone shouting at anyone else to stop putting peas up their nose. But now you'll find new ways to express your feelings for each other, like angry texts, whispered swearing, and poking each other in the middle of the night until SOMEONE GETS THE BABY.
 
Then there's breastfeeding. If my husband came within three metres of my milk jugs, I would politely say, "Don't you even THINK about touching my tits," then fix him with a death stare until he backed slowly out of the room. Just the right way to create a romantic atmosphere.  
 
Now our children are a bit older, we've decided to rekindle our relationship by going out on some dates. It's just like old times! Except totally different. Here's what I've learned so far about having an AWESOME date night, post-kids.
 
Leave The House Relaxed

Try to make sure you kids are tired and in peak tantrum mode when you head out for the night. Nothing sets the tone for the evening than a four year-old screaming, "NOOOO! PLEEEEEEEEEEASE MUMMY DON'T GOOOOOOOOOOO!" Everyone will feel relaxed and ready to party.
 
Wear Something Special

Show you've made an effort by wearing an item of clothing with only one bodily fluid on it. Or ring the changes by picking something you haven't worn for a few years that no longer fits. Don't worry if you haven't had a shower for a few days - just freshen up with an entire can of Batiste, and a squirt from a bottle of CKone that went off in 2009.
 
Be Hungry For It

It's best to go on a date when you are starving. Your blood sugar will be low, and you will resort to raw animal instincts, like growling. This is great for creating an intimate atmosphere.
 
Play Hard To Get

There's nothing sexy about appearing too interested. Keep your phone to hand at all times and don't be afraid to send a few work emails, check Facebook, and reply to that text from your friend about where to buy nit combs. Better still, take a selfie and post it on Instagram to tell everyone you're having a great night out, while totally ignoring your partner.
 
Find The Perfect Spot

Getting through challenges brings couples closer, so pick a restaurant that has inadequate parking, terrible reviews on TripAdvisor, and is closed. Make sure you wear ill-fitting heels in preparation for the 20 minute trudge round local streets before you give up and go to Wetherspoons.
 
Put Sex On The Menu

It's a special night, so go heavy on the red wine, but don't forget to line your stomach with tons of carbs and starch. This will start the bloating process, and enhance the sensation of exhaustion you were experiencing before you even left the house. Sexy times!
 
Keep The Conversation Flowing

This is an opportunity for you to chat about things you never get the chance to discuss at home, like that unpaid Council Tax bill, or what you really think of each other's family. Honesty can be a real aphrodisiac, so add a bit of spice to the conversation by starting sentences with the phrase, "Do you know what really fucks me off?"
 
Do It Fast And Hard
Add an exciting frisson of urgency to your date by employing an extortionately expensive babysitter who has to be home by 10pm. There's nothing like scoffing your food so fast you get indigestion and making a mad dash for the last train to make you feel aroused.

Slip Between The Sheets

After all that build-up, it's great to get home, get into bed, and get down to the thing you've been looking forward to all evening - SLEEP.

Dear Kate Winslet, 

​This is a difficult letter to write. I've always been a fan of yours - I mean, I never had a Titanic poster on the wall or anything, but as far as people pretending to be other people goes, I reckon you're pretty good at it. I assume you're a nice person, and judging by your recent comments, I think you're quite a sensitive one. So please forgive me when I say this: FUCK OFF.  
 
Specifically, please can you fuck off with your suggestion that talking about how women earn less than men is "vulgar". Throughout history, people have used this word to try to put us in our place; to demean us for doing something as daring as wearing trousers, or asking for the vote, or having periods, or telling jokes, or saying that we're not totally keen on female genital mutilation.
 
And now here go us bloody women again, asking not to be taxed for not having a penis. OUT LOUD! You're right, Kate, it's not "a very nice conversation to have publicly". We should all sit down in the privacy of our own homes and write polite letters to all the politicians and captains of industry. We will quietly explain that we'd quite like equal pay, if that's alright, but please don't tell anyone we mentioned it. That will definitely sort things out.
 
Oh Kate, I do understand when you say things like, "I'm quite happy with how things are ticking along." Yes, because you are a millionaire Hollywood superstar, apparently living in 1952. These days, everyone talks about money - even the Prime Minister! He's always banging on about how we have to tighten our belts, unless they're solid gold because we're already massively rich. Actually, I think you and he would get on.
 
I know you find talking about sexism "uncomfortable", and that it's not something you've had a problem with: "If I'd ever been in that situation I would have either dealt with it or removed myself from it... I haven’t ever felt that I’ve really had to stick up for myself just because I’m a woman." Here's the thing, Kate: these pesky sexists are so blimmin' crafty that sometimes, they don't even tell you they're being sexist!
 
No, really! They might NOT ring you up and go, "Hello love, just to let you know you're getting $4m less than Leo for the boat film, because of your tits." They might NOT record and send you a copy of their conversation about how you're too old for their movie, even though they've already signed up George Clooney, Sean Connery, and a guy who's been dead for 30 years. Sometimes, Kate, people are sexist behind your back. Which makes it a bit difficult to stick up for yourself.
 
But if you reckon you've never been discriminated against, knowingly or unknowingly, then brilliant! Good for you. The thing is, though, I'm not sure everyone else has definitely had the same experience. There are literally millions of women complaining about sexism in the workplace, and I know this sounds bonkers, but I don't think they're all making it up.  
 
I'd better draw this letter to a close, because Jeeves is probably already waving the smelling salts under your nose. But while we're here, I might as well tell you a few other home truths. I'm sorry if you also find these statements vulgar and uncomfortable, but you'd find out sometime anyway.
 
1. Some people are racist.  
2. Looking after small children is boring.
3. Even the Queen does shits.
 
All the best, Kate - I hope you continue to enjoy a successful and sexism-free career. But when it comes to telling the rest of us what we're allowed to complain about, as I say, do fuck off.
 
Love,
 
Ellie X  

Fancy some more feminism? Check out our podcast episodes with Suzanne Moore and
Abigail Burdess.
​
A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies.

 Helen writes:

​This week the BBC finally reported something about my home country, Australia, that didn't involve sharks, beer, or a koala stuck in a tree. It was the triumph of Michelle Payne, the first female jockey to win the Melbourne Cup.
 
And not only was her ride impressive, her victory speech was a knockout. She boldly announced that those chauvinists who think women aren't good enough can, quite simply, "Get stuffed."
 
This is a phrase that just isn't used enough these days. It's got such a brilliant earthiness and a fair-dinkum punch that I think we should bring it back, right now.
 
So, inspired by the bloody top woman that is Michelle Payne, here are all the things about parenthood that make me feel like I'm not quite good enough, and which can GET STUFFED.
 
1. A Clean House For Play-Dates
"Oh no! The girls are coming over for coffee - I better get up at 5am to bleach the toilet and hand-make some quinoa truffles!" Fuck this shit. Anyone who gives a toss if there's Lego all over the floor can go in the bin. The good people won't care, and the best people will say, "Oh, this makes me feel better about my own shithole." These are the keepers.
 
2. Ironing
Unless there is an actual emergency - like a job interview, or your mother-in-law is coming over from Australia - put your ironing board away, people. The kids won't care if their jeans are a bit crumpled, and if you have a baby, all your clothes will be covered in snot and porridge by 9am anyway.
 
3. Perfect Homemade Cakes
Look, I feel your pain. Just the other week I was up until 2am creating a fondant unicorn oasis that Paul Hollywood would have described as "a bit elaborate." 12 hours later, I watched a group of six-year-olds rip it to shreds in under a minute. All kids care about is the quantity of Smarties and the volume of icing. In fact, why not just stick a few candles in a bag of granulated sugar?
 
4. Matching Socks
This issue is a controversial one in my house, by which I mean we have almost been divorced over it several times. IT DOESN'T MATTER if your socks don't match! Who cares? Sanity is more important. [Ellie writes: This is totally incorrect. Socks that don't match make you feel funny all day. Sorry, Helen, but both your husband and I are leaving you.]
 
5. Perfect Date Nights
Everyone knows we're supposed to have these great evenings where we don't talk about the kids and have amazing sex. But that's not the reality, is it? Funny how there are all those photos on Facebook of candlelit dinners, but none of the couple in question having a row about the unpaid council tax bill then passing out on the hotel bed. Let's be honest, even the best date nights are comprised of at least 25 per cent parental admin chat and bickering. And frankly, you can do that at home over curry and a box set.
 
6. Hair Brushing
Just as sweets are classified as a 'sometimes' food, brushing hair is a 'sometimes' activity. Obviously that doesn't mean letting the kids grow their own dreadlocks, but does it really matter if they leave the house with a bit of a birds-nesty look occasionally?
 
7. Creative Meals
There's no need to spend hours creating Picassos out of peas and potatoes. If your kids will only eat a few things, give yourself a break. It's OK to feed them fish fingers twice in a row. And don't compare yourself to the woman at the Giraffe Cafe in Blackheath whose children were asking for the quinoa salad - she wasn't real, it was just an apparition, because you are so tired.
 
8. Relative-Induced Guilt
One of the hardest things to deal with is the feelings of guilt that can arise from talking to your well-meaning parents and in-laws, who "didn't do it like that in our day." Sure, it comes from a good place, sometimes, but SOMETIMES IT DOESN'T. Guilt can GET STUFFED.
 
9. Being Everyone's BEST FRIEND
When your kids start school or nursery, the number of new potential friends and social gatherings can be overwhelming. It's good to be polite and friendly, but you don't have to be everyone's best mate. Remember, your time is precious. What would you rather do, have a pint with that old drinking buddy you haven't seen since your twenties, or sit in a Cafe Nero with someone you barely know talking about house prices?
 
10. Feeling Like You And Your Kids Are Not Normal
This is one of the great anxieties of parenting. Is what your kids are into normal? What about what they eat? Or the fact they like singing Gangnam Style at the top of their voice on the number 75 to Sydenham? Worrying about what's normal can leave you feeling isolated and crappy. But here's the thing: there IS no normal. What's normal for you is normal, and better still, you are amazing. 

While Helen's been unsettling the people of Blackheath with her sweary workout sessions, I've started a fitness regime of my own. But I decided not to go with a personal trainer, because I am a strong believer in autonomous achievement and self-motivation, i.e. I really hate being shouted at.
 
So instead I downloaded a Couch-to-5K app for my iPhone. You boot up the app at the start of each half-hour running session, and a woman with a soothing voice tells you when to run and when to walk. There's a bit more of the former and a bit less of the latter each time. The idea is that at the end of eight weeks and 24 sessions, you are able to skip round 5K routes like Kate Hudson in that advert, except without being so smug about the fact you're selling leggings.
 
I completed a C25K programme five years ago, so initially I was confident I could do it again. Then, about 45 seconds into the first run, I remembered some important things:
 
1. I was five years younger then.
2. I have since had two children.
3. I should have done more pelvic floor exercises.
4. Like, about 28,000 more.
5. Running is really fucking hard, actually.
 
But I pressed on, returning home 29 minutes later, bright red and soaked with sweat. "Wow!" said my husband, "You must have worked really hard! What's the longest interval you ran for?"
 
"A minute," I said, collapsing on the sofa. "I've got to hydrate. Bring the wine. I'll need the whole box."
 
If you'd told me then that in seven weeks' time I'd be running for 25 minutes straight, I'd never have believed you - but that's where I am now. I'd be lying if I said I enjoyed every one of those 25 minutes. I feel painfully out of breath, exhausted, fed up and ready to quit for at least 23 of them.

Helen writes:
 
With Halloween drawing near, it's time to celebrate all things spooky and scary. But I ain't afraid of no ghosts, or witches, spiders, devils, or any of that... Although there are few things more terrifying than a sugar-crazed four year-old in a skeleton pirate costume who's just eaten his own weight in Haribo.
 
But if you really want to frighten me, just hide all the wine in my house, and tell me to run to the shops. Because alongside running out of Sauvignon Blanc, my biggest fear is EXERCISE.
 
Here are the things that terrify me about even attempting physical activity:
 
1. Wetting my pants in public
2. Farting loudly (both holes)
3. Excessive sweating in weird places
4. Extreme pinkface
5. Throwing up, possibly on the instructor
6. Heavy drooling
7. Doing all of the above at once
 
These fears are not unfounded. Imagine if Shrek was pink and had an Australian accent - that's me when I exercise. So given the choice, I'd never do it again.
 
Sadly, my doctor has told me I really do need to move off the couch and away from the biscuit tin. So I've decided to grow a pair (of legs), take a deep breath, and tell my fear of exercise to Fuck Off.
 
Just to be clear, this isn't about getting thin or trying to look like Elle Macpherson - I've been down that road before, and I know it only leads to delusion and failure. I've decided to make a change because after seven years of motherhood I feel so much stronger emotionally, and I want my body to have that same resilience. Also I'd really like to stop aching and leaking all the time.
 
I'm too lazy to do it on my own, so I've enlisted the help of the fabulous Kirsty and Suzie ("THE SUZINATOR") from Wonder Woman Workshops in South East London. They specialise in women-only workouts and nutrition, and allow mums to bring along kids.

At our preliminary meeting, I confessed my fears of pissing over yoga mats and audibly fanny farting. They laughed. "Don't worry," said Suzie, "Everybody does it, and we don't care!"
 
This sealed the deal, so I signed up to a six-week personal training and nutrition plan.
The first session took place on Blackheath Common, and I turned up in genuine Active Wear, having done 97 pelvic floor exercises on the bus. I felt nervous as I noticed the pile of kettle bells and realised I was there to work.
 
Suzie was amazing - funny, supportive, but unforgiving, and I liked that. She tasked me with doing 50 squats, 30 burpees, 30 sit-ups and a run. I started off with enthusiasm, but by squat 25 the thigh burn had kicked in and I began to think longingly of my sofa. I spent the rest of the session running, squatting and sweating while yelling out "OH MY FUCKING ARSE," much to the horror of the nicely-dressed ladies of Blackheath passing by.
 
But I DID IT. And all with just a few farts and a tiny bit of wee! The last time my body worked that hard, I got a baby at the end of it, but this time I was glad to finish without something falling out of my vagina. Success!
 
As I walked back to the bus stop, I realised I was smelly, sweaty and bright pink, as predicted. But I didn't care. I had conquered my fear of exercise, and that made me feel less like Shrek and more like Wonder Woman. I can't wait for week two. 

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies.

We are performing our Scummy Mummies Christmas Show on Saturday 5 December.
The Amersham Arms, New Cross, 7.30pm. Tickets only £6. Buy tickets now.

Helen writes:

On Monday 28th September I headed off to the British Library to attend the Radio Academy's 2015 Festival. This annual event brings together extraordinary speakers from around the world, talking about the future of radio and extraordinary global projects. The line-up of speakers was jaw-droppingly good, including my podcast hero Helen Zaltzman, and the BBC's Fi Glover, Emma Barnett, Chris Evans, Annie Mac and Beats 1 DJ , Zane Lowe.

I was lucky to attend, as I had won a place from the brilliant organisation Sound Women, who support raising the profile of women in audio. I was so thrilled to have the chance to spend two days just listening, learning and meeting people who work in audio. And to be honest, as mother of small children I was genuinely excited about having two full days out of the house with a buffet lunch. Dreamy.

And it did not disappoint, it was amazing to be inside an auditorium filled with leading presenters and producers from around the country, actual proper audio professionals, as well as nerds, such as myself. For the first time I felt the work we do on Scummy Mummies was part of something bigger than our lounge. Podcasting, is for the most part is a lonely occupation, whilst Ellie and I record episodes together, the pre and post production side is done alone in our tracksuits sitting in our kitchens, usually eating cheese. At the festival however, I was brushing past the heads of BBC and commercial radio stations - it was my first 'photocopier chat' moment with imaginary colleagues. Going to these events by yourself can be overwhelming and daunting, however most people were chatty and smiley. And of course, they have to talk to you when they are waiting in awkward silence in the toilet cue and buffet line.

The festival was split into two separate days, the first being the technology focussed TechCon. I was prepared to be utterly confused by new technologies and industry speak, but came away inspired, enlightened and slightly less confused. Hosted by the fabulous Helen Zaltzman, the day was filled with speakers from the Head of the British Library, to Norwegian Digital Radio specialists to presenters from South Sudan's Eye Radio.

It was Eye Radio's presentation that struck me the most. They explained the vital importance of radio to the South Sudanese communities, especially as many lacked electricity, telecommunications and were facing war. During their presentation, they also made a plea for design engineers to create 'bullet-proof equipment', as they had been attacked several times during periods of conflict. The photos of transmission equipment with bullet-holes will stay with me for a long time. It was grounding to consider that radio is still a lifeline to so many, and not just entertainment or that podcast that keeps you company on a commute. I also felt encouraged to continue my path in audio, especially as there seemed very few women were in attendance, and I was reminded that the tech-based professions are still very much dominated by men. 

Day Two, was the main event! It started with the BBC's Helen Boaden and Sue Ahern, discussing the importance of networking in your career and the do's and don'ts. It was heartening to hear many people from the audience talk about how 'weird' and 'difficult' the whole process of networking is for them. Sue Ahern recommended to always offer something first, before asking anything of a new contact and Helen Boaden emphasised the value of 'grabbing a cup of tea' with peers. I instantly wrote down all my potential 'cup of tea' dates and felt inspired by these fabulous women.

Following this impressive start, the conference continued to be a rapid fire of extraordinary speakers and topics. From 9am until 6.30pm we sat in the Auditorium listening to Chris Evans talk about filling Wogan's shoes, Christian O'Connell talk about his hilarious encounters with negative online feedback, as well as Max Greaf from RadioActive talk about his work in developing countries, setting-up radio stations in isolated communities. We also watched Richard Curtis via skype talk about the Global Goals project Radio Everyone and were linked up to Canadian, Indonesian and Eastern European radio announcers who were involved in the project, it was like a mini-Eurovision. I also have to mention the lunch, not just the buffet, but that Jamie Cullen serenaded us in the British Library Atrium as part of a launch of Jazz FM. Swoon. What a morning!  

Cullen aside, one of the  real highlights was Fi Glover's presentation about Radio 4's Listening Project. Having listened to the programme on Radio 4, I was both keen to hear Glover speak, as well as visit the caravan where the stories have been recorded around the country. Before her talk began, each audience member was handed a Radio 4 blindfold, which caused much hubbub and a few whispered filthy jokes. As a group, we all sat in the darkness and listened to a recording of two hilarious women chat about their friendship. We all laughed together and it felt like they were sitting next to us sharing a cuppa. This moment encapsulated why I love audio and why most people were there. It is the simple act of sharing stories and personal experiences that drives people in the industry and is why it will always remain so culturally valuable.

And it was Janet Street Porter's presentation that brought this message home to me even more. In her presentation "The BBC: Time to Get Humble" she criticised BBC executives for not representing their audiences, saying that it had become too middle-class and like Waitrose. Whilst there was some guffaws and cheers, there was some nervous laughter as well, as Street Porter stated that more regional accents needed to be represented and that the BBC needed to reflect the real people sitting at home like the Goggleboxers. Her talk was short, sharp and direct, she then exited with cheers and applause.

I didn't think anyone could top Ms Street Porter, until Nicky Pattinson marched onstage holding a bottle of Diet Coke and large smile. Her presentation of 'How to tell the world who you are' blew the audience away, Pattinson's skill is in transforming businesses into selling machines, and I it was clear she was brilliant at it. She gave advice about selling yourself to your audiences, with honesty and heart and her presentation was littered with swears, laughter and explosive enthusiasm, just the lift we needed at 5.30pm . It was sadly cut short because an earlier session went on far too long, which was a real shame, as an independent podcaster, any advice about promotion, branding and engaging more listeners is so valuable.

The day ended with drinks in the British Library and an opportunity to 'network'. I met and drank a lot of wine, as well as spoke to many inspiring women working in all aspects of the audio industry. As I walked back tube station, I felt warm with wine and also with a greater sense purpose for what the Scummy Mummies podcast does. We might just share filthy stories of motherhood and parental shame, but these are the stories that our listeners value around the globe and what makes them laugh and feel normal, and for me, that is so rewarding and is what drives my career in this extraordinary industry.  

Thank you to Sound Women who enabled me to go to such brilliant event. If you work in audio, then join up with them today. http://www.soundwomen.co.uk/

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies.

We are performing our Scummy Mummies Christmas Show on Saturday 5 December.
The Amersham Arms, New Cross, 7.30pm. Tickets only £6. Buy tickets now.
 

Ellie writes: What makes The Great British Bake-Off so British? It's not the cake. It's not the bunting. It's not the rain. It's not Mary Berry or her grumpy Scouse minion. It's the fact that the Bake-Off is in the tradition of that classic British pastime: watching someone attempt something really hard, and bollocks it up.  
 
Our history is peppered with examples of this - look at Eddie the Eagle Edwards, or Richard Branson's attempts at hot air ballooning, or any sport since 1966. We love failure, and we're brilliant at it.
 
Let's be honest, the best bits of the Bake-Off aren't when someone successfully constructs a three-tiered model of Westminster Abbey out of shortbread and spun sugar. They're when someone has a tantrum over a curdled custard, or throws a cake in a bin.
 
These moments are important because they represent another great British tradition - deciding something's too difficult, and therefore not even bothering to attempt it. I love cooking, but I hate baking, with all the emphasis on exact measurements and correct oven temperatures. I don't have the time, will or energy to pipe meringue swans, or worry about the overpowering nature of rosemary. And don't get me started on macaroons. I will simply say this: FUCK MACAROONS.
 
Basically, the Bake-Off reinforces my prejudices: making cakes is a load of fucking effort, and will almost certainly end in disaster. Best just to forget about it while you tuck into another Mr Kipling fondant fancy.
 
But while I'm reassured by the disasters, it's not that I take pleasure in the contestants' misery. I did feel sad for Dorret as I watched the six-layer gateau she'd just spent a day building collapse into soup. And so did her rivals in the tent, visibly and genuinely. The contestants feel each other's pain and help each other out when things go wrong, which is another very British trait.
 
(As far as most of us are concerned, anyway;  if David Cameron was running the Bake-Off tent, he'd announce an egg shortage, and take an egg off each baker with the least eggs to give to the person who already had the most. Then tell everyone to be grateful Jeremy Corbyn wasn't giving their eggs to terrorists.)
 
It was the final, however, that really summed it up for me. Nadiya was never a clear winner; she had ups and downs throughout the series, coming last in the Technical Challenge as close as the semi-final. "I've bollocksed it up," she sobbed to camera, "I've totally fucking fucked it." (I'm paraphrasing here, but we all know what she was thinking.)
 
But she kept calm and made a peacock out of Rice Krispies, won the whole bloody thing, and then declared there must have been some kind of mistake. Again, this is a classic British trick - being as surprised as anyone when it turns out we're not totally crap.  

If you've got a child at school or nursery, you're probably familiar with WOW cards. Parents are supposed to fill them out and hand them in to celebrate their children's achievements, like counting to ten, playing nicely etc. But what if we were more honest with our WOW cards? Here, some Scummy Mummies reveal the things that really make them proud... 

1. Mmm, tapas

Hello. My name is Helen, and I am an over-sharer. To put it in technical terms, I suffer from Awkward Sharer Syndrome (ASS). Yes, I am the person at the party who misjudges the flow of the conversation, and tells an embarrassing story that creates a fog of discomfort, silencing the room. 

I should see it as a gift, really. As a comedian, it's my job to make people laugh with stories of my humiliation and failure. But sometimes I forget that I am not on stage, and people don't want to hear about the time I fanny-farted in a yoga class. Especially when I just met them 90 seconds ago in the queue at Sainsbury's.

My ASS can flare up at any time. Just the other day, I was chatting to a teacher at school about the importance of teaching my son to get his P.E. kit on by himself. She explained that trying to single-handedly get 30 four year-olds dressed was proving difficult.

Most people would smile and nod sympathetically at this, and that's what I did. But because of my ASS, I then added, "Oh God, you poor darling, what a FUCKING NIGHTMARE!" This was followed with a huge laugh that died away as I noticed all the other kids and parents staring at me, and the teacher looking horrified. Damn you, ASS.

It's never my goal to create a weird atmosphere, or to scar people forever. It's like a strange compulsion, one I've learned I just have to live with, and possibly turn into a career. I live life on the rollercoaster of shame - it may be bumpy, it may induce nausea, but it's never dull.

So if you feel like spicing up your life with a bit of ASS, here is my seven-step programme for over-sharing.

Step One: Have a normal conversation with a human.

Step Two: Enjoy the conversation. Maybe even make the person laugh.

Step Three: Get too confident. Make a reference to something stupidly awkward, e.g. sex, bowel movements, or youthful drug taking. Other options include totally misjudging the other person's political bias, and excessive swearing.  

Step Four: Soak up the awkward silence as the other human stares at the ground in horror.

Step Five: Laugh weirdly and blush. Exit.

Step Six: Be wracked with shame. Lose sleep. Find yourself literally shuddering every time the incident comes to mind, which happens about 18 times a day.  

Step Seven: Repeat for the rest of your life, until you actually die of embarrassment.

BONUS POINTS: Write a blog about it, so the whole internet knows about your ASS problem. Cheers! 

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies. 

Guest blogger, podcast regular and stay-at-home dad Steve Hill writes:

A long time ago in a village far, far away, a young boy really wanted to see Star Wars. He was the only child at school not to have seen it, and as such faced constant ridicule from his peers. So it was with some relief that he finally persuaded his father to take him to the local picture house for the big event. 

However, he was horrified to discover that Star Wars was not being shown, but had been replaced by a bingo night, a fatal mix-up that would heap more derision upon him, and tarnish his relationship with the film forever.

That boy grew up to be an embittered journalist (and popular podcast guest) who once attended a party with Luke Skywalker, and watched him awkwardly eat a meat platter. 20 years after the bingo fiasco, by way of misplaced redemption, he took his father to see the remastered film - the key differences being it was actually on, and he was doing sniff on his own in the bogs beforehand.

Nowadays, Star Wars has become so ingrained in popular culture that watching it with your children for the first time is a cherished rite of passage. The experience is particularly intensified by the whole father/son narrative, so I was looking forward to one day sitting down with my own young Padawan (not his real name), and watching the wonder fill his innocent heart. Sadly, this privilege was stolen from me at a fourth birthday party in south-east London when I discovered my son bathed in the glow of a 50" TV, caked in popcorn, gleefully giggling at the robot dumpster scene with a number of other children, many of them in a state of undress.

I'm not sure what I had planned, but it definitely wasn't this. Whisking him into the car, I attempted to erase his memory with a Jedi mind trick, but the damage was done. As the saying goes, you can't put toothpaste back in the tube (God only knows, I've tried.) The incessant pestering began immediately, and eventually I had to dust off the box set and do it properly, plastic "light-saver" in hand, cut-price Skywalker figurine perched dead-eyed on the coffee table. Naturally, the boy fell asleep before the end - it's a long, boring film.

Carelessly, on the second viewing, I forgot to divert his attention from the incongruous close-up of the scorched remains of Luke's Aunt and Uncle.

"What's that?" he asked, quizzically.

"It's the only family he's ever known, charred beyond recognition by the forces of evil," I didn't reply.

The Empire Strikes Back swiftly followed, and the key moment of the entire trilogy passed without comment. In fact, I had to pause the DVD and explain [SPOILER] that Darth cocking Vader is Luke's cocking Dad. 

"How odd," the boy replied, understandably.

The Return of the Jedi (aka "Turn of the Jedix") is now established as a firm favourite. I recently discovered him in his room watching the entire thing on YouTube, only emerging to inform me: "Luke said 'I know you still have good in your heart' but Darth Vader was still cross," and that, "Queen Lillipos has got some of the force, but not as much as Darth Vader." 

Further analysis continues on a daily basis, and the main issue seems to be why Vader joined the dark side. Current theories include, "Maybe because they had more people and a bigger ship," and, "Because he put the mask on." 

The boy has also shrewdly interpreted the subtleties of the film's title: "I know why it's called Star Wars - because there's stars and wars." Mark Kermode, eat your heart out.

For obvious reasons, I won't have the prequels in the house. Their existence is currently a well-kept secret, although now school has started it can be only a matter of time before some little scrote spills the beans and I am subjected to that fresh hell. The boy is aware of "the Christmas one," presumably referring to the forthcoming Episode VII as opposed to the much-maligned 1978 Holiday Special. 

By his own admission, he "can't stop thinking about Star Wars," and apropos of nothing will shout from the back of the car such insights as: "We thought Darth Vader killed Luke's father, but he was Luke's father." And of course there are the spontaneous bursts of song: "Star Wars, wonderful Star Wars, der der der der…"

It's becoming an obsession, and frankly it's exhausting. On the up side, one press of a remote control buys several hours of low-level parenting: I Am Your Father, and I'm pissing off upstairs for a long bath while you watch this guff again. 

Plus, it has set a new benchmark for paternal affection. The other day, in a rare moment of clarity, the boy turned to me and said, "Daddy, I love you more than Star Wars." Bingo...

A new episode of The Scummy Mummies Podcast is released every fortnight - listen free via scummymummies.com or  iTunes. We're on Facebook and Twitter - @scummymummies.