We're no Brian and Amy...that's for sure.

Relationships are hard work. Someone once told me that if you can get through the first few years of marriage with young kids, you’ll make it through anything as a couple. Pure and simple: a cocktail of sleeplessness, hormones, tantrums, no down time and no couple time makes for very thin ice. And in our house, we’re not just skating on it - at times we’re bloody well stomping on it. We’re a lot less Brian O’Driscoll and Amy Huberman and a lot more John and Mary from Father Ted. I reckon we could actually kill one another at times, if looks and seething exasperation could kill, that is.

Speaking of Brian and Amy, I couldn’t help but have relationship envy whilst ogling their date night pix from the U2 gig recently. They still have that sparkly, young love glow about them. There’s not an eye roll in sight in any of the pictures. Not a hint of resentment or an “oh for fuck’s sake” muttered under their breaths. How do they do it? With two young kids at home - who, let’s face it, are probably gorgeous, sleeping through  the night and eating their dinner as opposed to throwing it on the floor - how do they manage to keep their love all twinkly and shiny? Do they ever fight about who did or didn’t leave a stinking nappy on top of the bin instead of throwing it out? Does Brian ever call Amy a nag? Does Amy ever bitch at him for fecking off to the gym right in the middle of the witching hour before bed? 

Don’t get me wrong, I still love my husband. Sometimes. A lot of the time I just don’t like him very much. In fact, he can be a bit of an asshole. And I’m well capable of being one right back. Are we the only couple like this? Is the world really full of Brian and Amys who still hold hands and kiss and breeze through life on a magic carpet of giddy love and Instagram filters? Are they really managing to keep their relationships fully intact whist trying to juggle kids and work and life? Jesus, if there’s a secret to it, no one ever filled me in, so please, spill the beans someone. In the meantime, himself has just made me a cup of tea and plonked a chocolate brownie in front of me. And I’ve just ordered him a new pair of pyjama bottoms online. All is not lost.

What kids REALLY want for Christmas this year

This time last year I had all my Christmas shopping done but this year I haven't even started thinking about what anyone wants. I know that George wants everything he sees in the Smyths catalogue and Maisie wants a toy fried egg and a tiara. Tessa wants what everyone else has at any given moment. For anyone who missed it, here's a reminder of what kids really want for Christmas this year though...

I sometimes wonder why we bother getting toys for the kids at all. Or why Santa does, I should say. The house is packed full of all sorts of paraphernalia that most of the time doesn't get played with at after the initial excitement has worn off. Here's a list of things I genuinely think they'd love to get from Santa. 

1. A toilet. A classic that never gets old. The five-year-old could spend the day on it and the 3-year-old loves nothing more than chucking stuff in there - especially rolls of toilet paper. As for the 18-month-old, every time I turn my back she's disappeared off and I will inevitably find her splashing around in there. And it's even more fun if the aforementioned 3-year-old has left a turd in it. Or what about a nice refreshing drink from it using the tea set to scoop it up? Check. Who needs a soda stream with the bad boy in town. A must. 

2. A washing machine. More so for the younger two. George loves turning it off mid-cycle or putting random objects in there when I'm not looking. Tessa could sit watching it spin all day. Hours of fun, especially when Maisie is at school. 

3. A torch. My pair have battered the shit out of one another fighting over the one in their granny's house. Honest to Jesus, we were there for two full hours over the weekend and they didn't play with anything else. I have yet to discover a toy on the market that would hold their attention for as long. 

4. Forget selection boxes. I'm getting them a slab of  Kerrygold this year. The stuff is like crack cocaine to the three of them. I literally have to lock it away or otherwise they're trying to eat lumps of the stuff. With fingers, spoons or just biting right in, they're not fussy. A firm family favourite.

5. A biro. You'd think when you've got two journalists living in the same house that pens would be easy to come by. Nope. I can't put one down without one of them coming along and swiping it, finding an item of my clothing, a precious photograph or the wall to scribble on. 

6. Keys. Every kid I know wants a proper bunch all to themselves. Forget the plastic ones with lights and sounds and music and pictures of Elsa or Spider-Man or whoever else. No good. It has to be the real deal. Sure they're no fun unless they're capable of gouging your eyes out or cutting the throat of yourself when you're having a good old chew. See also a real remote control and a real iPhone. 

Replicas. Will. Not. Do.

7. A cardboard box. Actually get a few ones of varying sizes. Way more fun than anything you could ever find inside the box. 

8. A sweeping brush. Can be used as a sword, for playing witches, as a light sabre or just for undoing any actual sweeping that I've done. Also handy for beating one another up. 

9. A saucepan. Preferably a few of them so they can take them all out at once and make the biggest racket possible when you're trying to take an important phone call or listen to something on the radio.

And there we have it. Have I forgotten anything?

The Definitive Hospital Bag List - For Dads

Hospital bag lists have been all over the place lately - each one claiming to be the ultimate or definitive guide to packing for the birth of your baby. Most of them ignore the daddies though - so here's my guide for him: what to throw into a bag and have ready for when your other half goes into labour. Keep it in a handy spot so that you can just grab it on the way out the door, or better yet, in the boot of your car.

*Pack a spare change of clothes - socks, jocks, the works. You could get puked on. Or leaked on. Or you could be a sweaty wreck from all that pushing. Or pacing. Seriously. You'll want something fresh to change into when it's all over - and for that all-important first family pic.

*Bring basic toiletries - deodorant, a toothbrush, comb and towel.You might not have access to a shower but if you have a private room with an en-suite, it'd be nice to be able to freshen up. Labour can take a while so you could be sleeping in a chair (like my other half did at one point) or pacing the room trying to keep yourself awake. See point number one - you could need a good scrubbing at some point.

*Swimming trunks. Yes, really. Your partner might want to get into the shower, or if she's lucky enough to have access to one, a birthing pool. She also might want you in there with her rubbing her back or just leaning on you for support. It's best to be suitably dressed for the occasion.

*Bring snacks for yourself and herself. Whatever tickles your fancy. Your other half could go into labour in the middle of the night when there are no shops open. Make sure you've got things in your bag to munch on. The vending machine could be broken - don't rely on it. So whether it's a Mars bar or a protein bar, a bag of nuts, bottles of water or cans of soft drink - just make sure you have something in there. Lucozade Sport is good for energy and if you're really struggling you could have a Red Bull. Grab some fruit from the bowl on your way out the door for some healthy snacks too.

*Your phone charger. You'll need to make sure your batteries are powered up so that you can send out all those birth announcement texts and take those precious and priceless first photos. And if things are moving slowly, you'll probably be eating into the battery from surfing the net or streaming music.

* Change. Plenty of coins. You'll need them for the aforementioned vending machines are for parking. The last thing you need to be worrying about in the labour ward are the clampers.

*Some areas have text parking services available so you can top up your parking meter without having to leave the ward. Check out your local area. We did this when I was having my first two babies in Holles Street and it was brilliant.

*If your partner is using a Tens machine, check out what kind of batteries it needs and have a spare set in your bag just in case.

And your best tools are your eyes and your ears. Listen to your partner to see what she needs. Chances are she won't know until she's in the throes of labour whether or not she's the type of person who likes being touched or rubbed or massaged, or if she's the type to want everyone to stay the hell away from her.

Have a copy of her birth plan and know what she wants. Discuss everything with her in advance so that you can be her voice and her advocate in hospital.

And enjoy! You'll be meeting your baby soon - it doesn't get much more exciting than that!

The gory details about pregnancy and beyond that no one ever has the heart to tell you...

***DISCLAIMER - these don't happen to everyone and they haven't all happened to me!!***

Yes, pregnancy is beautiful, blah blah blah. New life, cute babies, glorious. But what about the stuff that goes on that no one ever talks about? The stuff that, if and when it happens to you, you think you’re the biggest freak going? I’ve scouted the opinions of my closest female friends and asked them to spill the beans on the most embarrassing and horrifying things that happened to them during pregnancy, birth and beyond. And here’s the ultimate list.. 

*Iron supplements make you constipated and when you eventually manage to squeeze one out that bad boy will be jet black. Scary shit. Literally.

*All that squeezing, grunting and straining has given you piles. Great big itchy, ouchie, piles.

*You’re nine months pregnant and your waters have just broken. Oh wait, no, that’s just you pissing yourself. Back home you go.

*After giving birth, the peeing of oneself, or the almost peeing of oneself can be quite common. Thinking about a yoga class? Just be careful when you’re stretching. A leisurely jog? You might want to wear a panty liner. Or a nappy. Those pelvic floors aren’t what they once were. Get squeezing them. Or sit on a towel when having a sneeze. 

*You can get stretch marks. On your vagina. And on your arse. And everywhere in between - not just on your belly.

*Your nipples can be seen from outer space and them even rubbing against the inside of your bra can be agony. And the areolas are like saucers. Dark, scary looking saucers. 

*Pregnancy brings farting to a whole other level. And post-pregnancy can be even worse. Farts come from every crevice. At least with regular farts you can sometimes hold them. There’s no escaping fanny farts. 

*Hair. What’s with the crazy hair? You’re practically a yeti during pregnancy and then suddenly a few months after birth and you could do with a combover. Other women report having no hair growth at all for nine months. 

*You could *actually* kill your partner. Stone dead. What is with that loud breathing? Or the way he chews? How in the name of God are you going to raise a child with someone so infuriating? And then he brings home chocolate. Or a 3 in 1. And you love him to pieces again.

*Labour can make you vomit. All over yourself. Multiple times. Bring a few changes of clothes to the delivery room just in case. 

*Having a baby really changes your relationship. Like really. In good ways and in bad. So be prepared.

*When your milk comes in it hurts like hell. Your boobs will be like rocks and even the slightest touch can have you squirting milk all over the place.

*Nothing, and I mean nothing, will prepare you for that love. Overwhelming.

Pregnant belly - not mine!

The celebrity parents I look up to most...

I often wish that the makers of Peppa Pig could come up with some sort of parenting guide, piggy-style. Out of all the parents on telly - of human or snouted variety - Mummy Pig and Daddy Pig are the ones I look up to most. What's not to love about them? They never lose their tempers, they always seem delighted with life and they manage to get their message across to their kids without shouting,  getting angry or pulling their hair out.

I mean let's face it, Peppa and George can be a bit of a handful at times. Little assholes even, dare I say it. Peppa with her superiority complex and sassy attitude, and George's tantrums and tears can be a bit hard to bear at times. But rather than lose the plot and or the run of themselves, an ever-cool and calm Mummy and Daddy Pig handle all the trials and tribulations of parenthood with the kind of grace I can only aspire to. Gentle parenting at its finest.

I'm not saying they're perfect. Daddy Pig has a reputation for being a bit of a flake and a buffoon, for example. But for the most part, if I could learn to be a little bit more like them in my parenting techniques, I'd be a lot happier. Getting annoyed with kids, or shouting, doesn't work. Distracting them to avoid tantrums, being positive as much as possible - that does. I'm not talking about letting them have their own way all the time so that they grow up to be little shits, or big shits for that matter - far from it. I'm saying that being compassionate with them and acknowledging their feelings, and trying to steer a negative situation into a positive one often stops meltdowns before they really begin. Less stress for all the family.

I have three children aged 5 and under and often find myself getting into a fluster over the smallest of things. They really have a natural talent at winding me up or kicking up a stink at the worst possible time. They fight over toys and get annoyed over what to watch on the telly. So instead of twitching over dirty clothes and spilled milk, I am trying to take a leaf out of the Pig family's book by taking it a bit more in my stride. A kiss and a cuddle and an "I know how you feel, sorry you're sad" whispered into a child's ear is so much better than getting annoyed with them for being upset. 

Today my over-tired eldest started crying because there was no ham for her sandwich. Instead of rolling my eyes and telling her to get a grip, which is what I felt like doing, I took a deep breath and told her we'd buy more ham tomorrow and offered to help her look in the fridge for an alternative. The tears stopped pretty quickly and I got a hug and a smile and a thank you. Definitely worth that extra effort on my part.

And as for Mummy Pig and Daddy Pig as a couple, they too seem to have a lot more patience with one another than me and my other half do. "Oh silly Daddy Pig" is the worst I've heard Mummy Pig come up with when he hammers a hole in the wall when hanging a picture, or forgets the picnic basket again. They go on date nights and laugh together often. She never looks like she's fit to throttle him and he never, ever calls her a nag. We could all learn something here I think... . 

Mummy Pig and Daddy Pig having fun with the kids

Mummy Pig's birthday - Daddy Pig organises a surprise night out

Work-from-home Mummy Pig takes time out to spend with Peppa

How could this happen?

It was the shoes that got me. Tiny ones made of leather that had walked way too many miles of hardship for a dozen lifetimes, let alone one that had been so short. Then there were the dolls and toys. Treasured possessions that little hands had clung to, offering a glimmer of joy and play in a world that had otherwise been saturated with hard labour. Auschwitz. It pained my soul. "How could this have happened?" I asked as we walked around the camp, from the gas chambers to the hellish sleeping quarters and to photographs of prisoners hanging on the walls, like ghosts, haunting the place. "How could the world have stood by and watched as this happened?" It blew my mind. It still does. Train upon train of people being herded like animals to the slaughterhouse. And yet here we go again...except this time, instead of shipping Jews off to extermination camps, deporting them to their deaths, we're barricading people out. People that are running for their lives, for the lives of their children. We're strangling them with red tape and inaction as they beg for help, for asylum, for refuge from the madness of the homeland they're fleeing from. How could this happen?

Today, I cried for little Aylan Kurdi as I saw his lifeless little body washed up on a beach in Turkey. I cried for his five-year-old brother, Galip and for his mother Rehan who also died with him on that beach. I cried for their father, Abdullah, who survived in body at least. I'm sure his heart and his soul are crushed. As a mother, when I saw Aylan lying there, face down, I wanted to pick him up and rub the wet sand from his baby-soft skin. I wanted to dry him off and give him a cuddle, tell him everything was going to be OK. The same age as my little boy, the war in Syria is all he ever knew in his too-short life. It had already begun when he was born and he died trying to escape it. A child. An innocent, beautiful child.

Here we are again, 70 years later and the images are scarily similar. How could this happen? The same question...over and over and over...Who's going to answer it?

Syrian refugees trying to get on a train in Hungary

Jews in Holland being deported to Auschwitz 

Syrians travelling from Turkey to Greece

Women and children on deportation ship in Greece, March 1943

No more exploring for Dora

So Dora isn't a freakin' explorer anymore. Instead she wears makeup and hangs out with her friends and goes shopping and worries about princess dresses. And poor old Boots is nowhere to be seen - at least in the episode that I had to sit through. I was never really a Dora fan. That high pitched twang went through me and the way she stared back at the telly after asking a question kind of gave me the creeps. But credit where it was due - she used to climb mountains and overcome obstacles and wrestle alligators and the likes. Dora kicked ass. With her almost androgynous looks and her little bowl haircut, she was so much more substance than style. I remember my nephews loving her 10 years ago, and so did my nieces. A rarity in a world of Barbies and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Something for everyone. But this new Dora in the City or whatever it's called, Dora seems more concerned with collecting sparkly things and going to the mall with her gal pals than she does about going on adventures. She wears makeup and is accessorised to the hilt. She doesn't rely on her trusty backpack or map anymore. Instead she's got a posse of tween friends who accompany her to parties and on shopping trips. How disappointing. Another kids' brand that has succumbed to turning our little girls into image-obsessed, two-dimensional characters with nothing but pink on the brain. 

I have two girls and a boy and I've spent the past five years since becoming a parent trying not to allow the gender divide into the playroom. Toys are toys - there are no girl toys and no boy toys in our house. My eldest two, a boy and a girl, play 'superheroes' and 'shops', they play out scenes from Frozen and take turns being Elsa or Anna or Prince Hans. They both love Blaze and the Monster Machine and Paw Patrol, Ben and Holly's Little Kingdom and Peppa Pig. Peter Pan, Pinocchio, Cinderella - they're all hits and we like to mix things up. She plays with toy cars and he plays with dolls. It's how we roll. I haven't banned princesses (I was a huge Disney fan growing up!) and I haven't banned swords. I let them play, use their imaginations but I want them to know that they can be anything or anyone they want - and it has nothing to do with their gender. 

It's hard to find positive female role models for kids these days when a Ben and Holly toy set I got in Smyths one Christmas has the Ben character saying things like "I'm really good at fixing things" versus the Holly one that says "I'm really good at looking pretty." And when a huge, iconic brand like Lego suddenly starts dividing up its sets based on gender - with the boy stuff being based around cool things like robots and space adventure while the girl items are things like "shopping malls" and hair salons. Groan. Even a set of 'happy family' cards by toymakers Spears contains a set of characters like Mr Smiles the dentist and his wife Mrs Smiles. Mrs Curls, the hairdresser and her husband Mr. Curls. There's the doctor and his wife and the florist and her husband. You can see where this is going...

We're supposed to be getting better, not worse, with gender equality. So why then are we starting the brainwashing younger than ever?