We all have those “what the actual fuck” moments — you know, when you’re sitting there minding your own business, sipping on what’s now lukewarm coffee, and your child strolls in with pockets full of snails and a slug clutched in their tiny hand. They proudly announce, “These are my new pets,” and apparently, there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.
No? Just me then?
Parenting doesn’t come with a handbook — not even a “How to Make Your Child Eat Vegetables and Sleep for Twelve Hours Straight” edition. Nope. It’s our own journey, our own collection of fails, our own story to write.
Sure, we can seek advice, read all the parenting books, listen to our elders, or even turn to Super Nanny 🤣 — but let’s be real, we’re all just winging it, one day at a time.
Keeping our children safe, clothed, and (mostly) fed — on their terms, not ours — that’s the foundation. Everything else falls into place. Watching them explore the world, absorb its wonders, and seeing their little minds tick over as they do… it’s magical, unfiltered, and raw.
As parents, we often forget to pause and take it all in. They’re literally growing right in front of our eyes — too fast.
So, the next time you find yourself the proud co-owner of a pet slug, remember: that slimy little creature is their world, and you’re part of it. Name the slug. Feed the slug. And for the love of all things holy, keep it away from the salt. 🐌
Taking kids into the forest isn’t just a casual stroll—it’s an adventure, full of opportunities for exploration, learning, and discovery. That said, it’s also an exercise in patience and parenting. Within ten minutes, someone will be hungry, too hot, too cold, tired, or in desperate need of a wee.
I’ve spent so many days with my kids trudging through mud, climbing trees, and building dens — the kind of messy, magical days that stay with you forever. I hope that years from now, we’ll all look back and laugh about the muddy puddle tantrums and those heartbreaking moments when we had to leave a beloved stick or rock behind.
Before your next outdoor adventure, grab your backpack (or three) and pack smart. Here’s what you really need to survive—and thrive—a day in the woods with kids.
Waterproofs save lives. Whether it’s raining, sunny, or somewhere in between, a lightweight, packable raincoat comes in handy. Use it for rain, as an extra layer for “I’m cold” moments, or even for unexpected UV protection on sunny days.
Somewhere to sit that isn’t a muddy patch? Yes, please. A ground sheet doubles as a picnic blanket, emergency shade, or a spot to pile the ever-growing collection of sticks, pinecones, and “treasures” your kids insist on collecting.
Optional, but highly recommended. Easy to set up, a hammock gives you the perfect spot to relax and watch the kids explore, soaking up nature without feeling like you’re missing half the fun.
🧻 4. Toilet Roll & Baby Wipes
Nature calls. A lot. From impromptu tree “bathrooms” to messy hands and faces, wipes save your sanity. Trust me—parents know.
🗑️ 5. Bin Bag
Leave no trace. Carry your rubbish home, keep the forest beautiful, and teach your kids the importance of caring for the environment.
The lifeblood of any outdoor adventure. Pack more than you think you need—kids will remind you they’re starving every five minutes. Bonus: snacks can double as bargaining tools for minor meltdowns.
Plasters, antiseptic wipes, and eye-cleaning drops (yes, sticks go in eyes more often than you think) are essentials. If you believe a day in the forest can happen without a few scrapes, you either have perfect kids—or you’re new to parenting.
🦟 9. Bug Spray & Suncream
Even on cloudy days, bugs are relentless and sunburns sneak up. Apply generously and often—consider it a full-contact sport.
Your phone is your camera, map, and lifeline. Keep it charged—you’ll want those snaps of muddy faces, puddle crashes, and “look what I found” moments.
🎒 Bonus Tip: Let the Kids Carry Stuff
If they’re old enough, give them a small backpack. Sure, it’ll probably end up full of sticks and pinecones, but they’ll feel useful—and you’ll carry less.
Henry aged 7
🌳 Final Thoughts
A day in the forest with kids isn’t about perfection or Instagram-worthy moments. It’s about snacks, mud, minor injuries, questionable decisions, and, most importantly, fun.
Pack smart. Live in the moment. And remember: if no one cries, did you even leave the house?
Henry aged 4
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One of the small but mighty perks of adulthood is the ability to swear whenever you damn well please. Stubbed your toe? Let a few colourful syllables fly. Missed your train? Drop a spicy four-letter haiku into the air. Accidentally cut your finger while chopping onions? That “Fuuuuu—” is practically medicinal. Nobody’s going to send you to the headteacher’s office anymore. Freedom!
But then… we become parents.
Suddenly we find ourselves living with tiny parrots, the kind that not only repeat everything we say but also have a knack for deploying it at the absolute worst possible moment. You haven’t known true horror until your three-year-old shouts “FOR F***’S SAKE” while trying to fit a triangle block into the square hole—loudly, in public, at a playgroup led by a woman named Mildred who has never said anything stronger than “bother.”
So begins the delicate dance: how do you, a full-grown human who knows the exquisite relief of a well-placed swear word, suddenly filter yourself in your own home?
The Sweary Parent Paradox
Here’s the thing: I don’t actually think swearing is inherently evil. Language is about context, tone, and audience. There’s a world of difference between:
“This lasagne is fucking incredible, Mum” (compliment, take the win).
Versus: “You’re a fucking idiot, Mum” (therapy fund just doubled).
But children are not natural connoisseurs of nuance. They are blunt-force creatures who will shout “bollocks!” in Tesco because you once said it while looking for your car keys.
Swearing as a Life Skill
What I’d like to teach my children is that swearing is like wine, power tools, or TikTok: it’s not inherently bad, but you have to be old enough and responsible enough to use it without accidentally hurting yourself or others. A well-deployed “bloody hell” can be cathartic. A casual “shit” when you drop something on your toe? Fine. But bellowing “motherf***er” during the school nativity play? Less fine.
So maybe the key is this: not banning swearing entirely, but teaching our kids that words have power. That sometimes restraint is powerful. And sometimes, when you’ve just reversed into a bollard in the Sainsbury’s car park, restraint is not the vibe.
The Dream
One day, perhaps, I’ll make a lasagne so magnificent that one of my offspring will pause, fork midair, and exclaim with reverence: “Mum… this is fucking amazing.”
And on that day, I will not correct them. I will raise my glass, toast their impeccable use of context, and whisper, “Language, darling. But yes. You’re right.”
Mamas life adventures 