Alpine Mummy

A new life in the middle of nowhere


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All New Boots and No Trousers

When Alpine Boy was born I was starry-eyed and naive. It was only months and even years later that I started to realise I’d missed a trick, when other mums would casually query what present Alpine Papa had got me for giving birth.

“Eh?!” I’d respond, before finally noticing those enormous hunks of diamonds  painfully weighing down their earlobes. Apparently that’s what other husbands buy you for harbouring an ever-growing being inside you for nine months and then pushing it out of somewhere delicate (and never-quite-stretchy-enough).

I got bugger all.

(Apart from this little beauty…)

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Introducing… “Alpine Mummy’s Hikes With Kids”

When we moved to The Middle of Nowhere in 2012, it didn’t take me long to work out there wasn’t much in the way of ‘entertainment’ for the kids (Alpine Boy then aged three and a half; Alpine Girl six weeks).

No soft play centres?!? No baby cinema?!? Bugger, now what?!

Answer?  Hills.  Lots of ’em.

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11 Things Never to Admit to Your Kids

I’m not one of those parents who routinely ‘lie’ to their kids to keep them in order. Not out of any sense of moral wellbeing, but mainly just because I’m no damn good at it. Lying, that is. (Or keeping my kids in order, come to think of it.) I simply can’t come up with elaborate tales to get them to eat their carrots or to not say rude things about people in the supermarket, and look like I mean it.

But that doesn’t mean I’m an advocate of telling the truth at all times. No way.   There are certain things you should never tell your children, no matter how true…

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Broken…

I’m going to have to keep this short (hush there, with your loud sighs of relief, please), as I’m typing one-handed.

This is not because I’m changing a nappy or wiping noses at the same time (for once). Nor is it because I’m shoveling snow or chopping logs or training wild boars to pull a sledge full of children (all of which form daily part of my Alpine life. Honest).

Not even because I’m stuffing my face with chocolate. Even though I am.

No, I’m writing this post with only five of the ten typing fingers I am usually blessed with, because I’ve only gone and broken my bloody wrist.

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Alpine Mummy’s Motherhood Challenge

I must say, I have been very surprised not to have been nominated by ANY of my Facebook friends for the pervasive yet insidious Motherhood Challenge.

I’m hoping this is because they know I despise any ‘challenge’  which involves smug mummies insensitively posting impossibly beautiful photos of impossibly beautiful offspring – the kids smiling happily and throwing neither tantrums nor knives at each other; the photos skillfully Instagram-filtered so you can’t see snot on sleeves or bags under eyes.

I suspect that’s not the reason. But hey, let’s not delve too deeply into whether people think I’m a great mother or not…

Instead, I’ve given-the-hell-up waiting, and have nominated myself. So here are the five photos that make me proud to be a mum.

Alpine Boy is always willing to help out

Alpine Boy is always willing to help out, isn’t he just adorable?!

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The Traumatic Incident of the Tooth in Daytime

I popped into the dentist for a quick root canal this morning. And was in the chair for TWO AND A HALF HOURS.

If you need a lesson for your kids to get them to brush their teeth, let this be it. I have been left traumatised, abused, and depressed. And my mouth is still so sore, 8 hours after the event, that I can hardly force my wine down. Exactly. It is BAD.

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(Photo credit Little Shop of Horrors)

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Alpine Mummy’s celebrity interview

Ever wondered why Alpine Mummy is actually in the middle of nowhere, and not working her way up the corporate ladder in good old London…?

Ever wondered what she’s thinking when signing off yet more orders for paperclips?

Ever wonder what life is really like as an expat in the French mountains, with dog poo and bureaucracy galore?

Wonder no more!

For all the juicy details (kind of), check out this candid and exclusive interview for the fantastic Multicoolty.com.  Forget Hello, Vogue, or Paris Match – this is where it’s at!

The perfect combination

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