Aimee Horton

Life Lately


There are some bloggers that just get in your head (Alison, Molly and Morgana I’m looking at you), and yesterday no different.

I was sitting looking grumpily at instagram (instead of happily) then I flicked onto twitter…which I have no idea why, because that makes me always grumpy and despondent. But for once it didn’t…I happened to catch Molly’s latest post called “Life Lately” and as always, she hit the nail in the head.

Like her I have exciting (totally not meaning to be cryptic) things happening. I’m also nearly at the end of my draft of the next Dottie novel, and the sun is shining. When you’re pulled this way and that, sometimes your ideas for blogs are clouded. Right now I have loads of ideas, they’re just all pants when it comes to writing them.

So instead, I’m going to embrace Molly’s idea, and this is my life..lately..


Me writing

I’m on fire with Dottie. Getting to THE END is going to be amazing, but I know that this draft is going to need a lot of work. I’m trying to remind myself of the quote “the first draft is always shit” one I tell myself all the time, but by golly, there’s shit, and then there’s the runs. I’ll be looking for Beta readers soon though, so please get in touch if you’re interested.



Theo went on his residential last week. In fact this time last week I was just willing him to come home, and was very relieved he’d managed to not break something abseiling down THIS ACTUAL TOWER.


*throws up in mouth*

While he was away I feel very lucky that the school was closed for polling day, so I got to take Larry to the farm and spend some quality time with him. We used to visit the farm a lot before he started school, so it was lovely to recreate it. Even though we did end up having a very in-depth discussion about why things cost what they do in the gift shop and why we can’t cross out the prices and write a cheaper one on with pen.

Larry runs


I was bloody glad to get this one back though…



Mr Aimee and I worked out that it’s been quite a while since we have managed to bin the children off let the grandparents have the kids overnight, so when our friends suggested a night out we JUMPED at the chance.

Although I have to say, I enjoyed sitting in the garden with my book thoroughly too.



Mainly my dungaree’s if I’m honest. I don’t care what Mr Aimee says (that I look like a drunk kids TV presenter) I LOVE THEM.


I’ve also loving my slogan tee’s & sweats right now. I feel very proud to be able to support my fellow #Mumboss mums…well support or their tops make me feel like I might be cool one day.


FEARLESS TEE by Tease and Toes



GIN AND ON IT Sweat from Parent Apparel.

Anyway, now I’m off for a photoshoot…she says really casually…

Twisted Knickers.


So. The motherhood challenge thing happened, and without realising that everyone was going to get their knickers in a twist for twisting sake, I posted my photos. I didn’t nominate anyone though, mainly because I’m too self absorbed and forgot that part.

I joined in because at that moment it was taking all my restraint not to shout “GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP” up the stairs. I joined in, because a few people had ‘nominated me’ and I thought “fuck it, looking at pictures that make me smile remind me that my children are ok at times.” I also joined in, because rather naively I thought certain people might like to see the pictures and read my comments.

I didn’t realise that by admitting I love my kids I was bragging. I didn’t realise that I was insinuating that I was an amazing mum, or that I was doing a fantastic job, or that I was patting myself on the back and being a smug cow. It was not so long ago, that by saying something negative about your child made you a bad mother. I’ve done that too, so sorry about that. Sorry about it all.

You see, as a mum, I like to look at other mum’s pictures. Admittedly nobody has a child as cute as mine, but I still think most people’s kids are blooming cute. I like to see these children grow up. I like to see them having a tantrum because you gave them the wrong coloured plate, or the sofa that they’ve drawn on. I like to see them at their first swim gala, in their first football kit, on their first day of school or achieving star of the week. I like to see a mum being proud – even if sometimes some posts are a bit vomit inducing.

But here’s the deal – for me anyway. My social media accounts aren’t for your benefit.

 It’s probably surprising to hear, from somebody who supposedly wears their heart on their sleeve across most social media networks, but when I upload/write a status I’m not doing it for the general public, I’m doing it for me.

I don’t go on social media to be offended, quite the opposite, often I go on to cheer myself up. You see, the people on my feed, I like them. They make me happy. Yes, there is the odd person who can post a status that makes them come across as a bit of a pillock, there are some needy cryptic attention seekers, and I’m not really that fussed about how many places you can check into on a day. But I’m not offended by it all, I just scroll on through, and look at the things that make me smile.

People’s achievements. Oh my god, I love to see how people are doing, people from my past and present, who are all over the world these days, they’ve run marathons. They’ve got new jobs, they’ve had kids, they’ve got married, they’re moving house, they’re following their dreams. I LOVE IT. Facebook and Instagram to me, are the way I keep up, because I have come to terms with the fact that no matter how many birthday cards I buy, they’ll never get from the glove box to the post box.

I don’t tend to join in any of the viral stuff, and I actually avoid anything that’s to ‘raise awareness to charity’ unless I think it will get a laugh, because well, that’s what I like to do, I like to make people laugh. I like to raise a smile amongst the perils of day-to-day life. It makes me happy. You really couldn’t give a toss about me not wearing make up, and I couldn’t give a toss if you knew I’d given to that charity or not. It’s really not anybody’s business.

It’s a bit like the fact that I don’t tell you that for the last four days I’ve been sat with my foot up and I’m bloody depressed about the fact that I can’t run. Nor do I tell you that it’s impacted my entire writing week, and I’ve spent a lot of time in tears eating yellow food. Why would I post that? Makes me sound a bit pathetic. In fact, I’ve deleted this paragraph about three times because I feel a bit of a twat, but I’ll keep it in to enhance my rant.

You see, I know we live in Instagram nation, and we all know that we’re all guilty at one time or another of taking 50 million photos and filtering the fuck out of them. But I also think we’re getting a little guilty of over-thinking. I agree maybe the word “challenge” and the act of having to “tag a person who you think is an awesome mum” were not the best choices for this particular facebook “meme”, but perhaps it’s about time  we realise that some people are just making memories for themselves, not to rub them into you, and perhaps you’re getting offended about something that is really rather insignificant (a few extra pictures in your timeline which is probably full of other baby and family snaps) in the grand scheme of things.

Things that never sound good when repeated in the supermarket.


Mummy…please don’t cut my feet off.” Comes a voice from next to me as I’m browsing the home section in Sainsbogs. I’m barely listening, but a woman next to me clears her throat and looks uncomfortable.

Turns out, after a bit of questioning, my son is dropping me in it over the fact that the week before after climbing up and down the stairs to various “can’t sleep” excuses, I’d decided to play hardball. “MY FEET ARE HURRTTINGGGG” was being bellowed down the stairs, so I may have taken a knife upstairs and suggested I chop them off if they were that bad.

Saying it out of context doesn’t make me sound very good does it? I mean. What sort of parent offers to chop their childs feet of? Especially when said child then cries, promises to go to sleep, and brings it up like a victim the week after.

He has a habit of doing this sort of thing in the supermarket. It’s like he wanders around and apart from memorizing which aisle the biscuits are in (true story) he’s bored, so he ticks through the big questions in his life at that particular moment.

For example, yesterday we went to buy him a toy with his birthday money, he asked me to “lend him” some money – don’t get me started on that. When I said I didn’t have any money, he said “but when you kill daddy, and sell the house you’ll have loads of money.”

His voice isn’t quiet by the way.

I didn’t even try to explain this one to the people in the toy aisle. I knew exactly what he was talking about, and it doesn’t really reflect well on me. You see, we had friends around the other day, and we were talking about houses we wanted in the future, and somehow got onto the topic of binning our husbands off and moving in together. IT WAS TOTALLY INNOCENT. Then Mr Aimee happens be updating something on the computer and tells me how much money I’ll get if he dies, and I joke saying he better watch out what he’s eating. The kids were busy eating toast and talking about Minecraft at the time, I didn’t even think they were listening.

I’m probably on some sort of list by now anyway. Previously, when he’s acted out a complicated – and quite realistic – dying scene in the mixer aisle of Aldi, I’ve asked what that matter is, and he replies “I’ve been poisoned…you must have poisoned me…” before finally lying still next to the bitter lemon. I reach for another bottle of tonic, and a lovely lady got it down for me. I’m not even going to pretend she wasn’t laughing at me as I carried on walking asking my son if he could possibly die standing up – which he did, stumbling from side to side holding onto his stomach.

Then there was that time we walked past the DVD aisle, and my eldest son stopped and pointed to Fantastic Mr Fox. “You know that bit where the room is filled with drink?” I mmhmmm him, and he carries on, “I bet if it happened with wine, and you were in the room, you’d just stand their with your mouth open drinking it all!”

To be fair, he’s right.

“YOU LIED TO ME MUMMY” accompanied by a foot stomp is bellowed at me in the sweetie aisle. “YOU SAID YOU WOULD LET ME HAVE SMARTIES FOR TEA IF I SLEPT UNTIL 7 O’CLOCK.” I didn’t lie! I just didn’t think he’d do it!

Pass the gin, perhaps it’s time to start ordering on line again.