Adventures of a 40 year old mum

Adventures of a 40 year old mum

So it is official.

I am 40.

I have been warbling on about turning 40 for months, and the celebrations seem to be endless.  I have actually exhausted myself.

I had a party, it was amazing.  Set in a 1920’s themed speakeasy, my friends and family eagerly dressed up in some glamorous kit and we drank cocktails until my memory faded, and I felt tremendously loved.

The weekend of my actual birthday approached and I decided to attempt to break myself in my last weekend of my thirties.  Following the theme of the last few years of my life, because life is too bloody short to not try new things, face your fears, and squeeze every second of fun out of life.

Although I perhaps didn’t have to do all of that over three days.

I did a Crossfit competition with my beautiful friend on Saturday, who adorned our sitting area with many photos, signs and banners.  We didn’t win, and we didn’t lose.  We laughed until we cried and rowed until we couldn’t walk.

The day after rather than resting those aching limbs we took off on a glorious 9 mile walk aroung the hills of the peaks, savouring the beauty that is northern England.

And finally on the day itself, my children adorned the house with banners, presented me with awesome hand made cards and gifts chosen with love.

Then they went to school, I went to the gym and worked out with these lovely ladies, and then spent the day hanging from a bridge in an abseiling motion and finally went for dinner with family and friends.

Sexy and they know it….

Because how else would you celebrate your birthday?

It was a good three days.  Made more special by a best friend.

I went into my thirties as a married mum to two, who had dreams she didn’t know how to make into reality.  Who thought keeping a tidy house, and trying to say the right thing all the time, and being the mum who looked liked she had everything together was the way to be.

I have blasted into the forties, with dust on my mantelpiece, some funny looking stains inside the oven, with three kids, no marriage, and a reputation for forgetfulness, cluelessness, and kids with unpolished shoes.  I don’t have anything together but I have the life I dreamt of, where I travel with my kids, work out to the extreme, and spend my days writing about my world and looking for my next adventure.

I have arrived at this milestone age still not knowing what I want to be when I grow up but being fine with that.

I have fought off depression, although she pops up sometimes, managed a plethora of conditions with my children, and come out the other side.

I’m forty, and finally feeling fabulous.

And to the now,

Because the celebrations and the loving living of life didn’t end on the 18th of September as I arrived at 40.  The party is set to go for a few more months, I make no apologies for this.

Tuesday was a day of rest between my actual birthday and the next big thing.  Wednesday, myself and four friends raided the VIP lounge at the airport for tea bags and soda, and boarded a plane to France for a week full of activity and festivities.  We are missing one lady, who has just given birth to a beautiful baby girl and couldn’t join us so soon after labour.  The plans to come again next year with a toddler in tow are already forming.

We have been invited to review the region by Summer France, and thanks to the lovely team there,  I am writing these words in a luxurious bedroom, staring out onto a grassy lawn with our own pool, hoping one of the girls with soon realise I am awake and bring me a cup of tea with an airport teabag, plus milk and one sugar….

The villa is perfect, our surroundings ideal for all our needs, and my legs are knackered after one day.

The girls have not disappointed, and have presented me with a list of forty things I need to do this week.  Some of which are borderline sexual harassment, if I never write again, it could be because I have been arrested for trying to lick some poor unsuspecting chaps nipple.

Some are plain daft – to insert 40 marshmellows in one’s mouth and spit out the word Fuzzy Bunny, everyone knows I have only a petite mouth and was bound to fail.

Yesterday was spent with the morning in the sea, attempting to surf, and thanks the book of forty things, I also had to flirt with the surf instructor all morning.

My flirting is as strong as my surfing…

I realise now why I am single.

I don’t think the lovely fella who spent his morning trying to teach us to stand up on a bit of foam in the ocean even realised I was attempting to seduce him.  I think he left thinking I had an issue with personal space and a twitch in my eye.

Bikes are our mode of transport around this fantastic area. Luckily the roads are quiet or we may be going home a smaller number than we came.  The food and drink are flowing in steadily, so we can guarantee to go home a bigger number on the scales than when we came.

Two days in we have already laughed till we cried, clapped our boobs, survived a spider attack, eaten a tonne of mussels, mopped it up with pizza, cycled down steps, squatted, plunged in the pool, twerked, cycled, and planned for next year.

It is amazing, I can only find time to write in the morning as the sun comes up outside my window.  The days are set to be jam-packed of fun.

Horse-riding today, possibly kayaks this afternoon.

Do what you love, life is short, grab the adventures and make them reality.

Will report back later – unless the bald man I have to kiss or the policeman I need to selfie with take umbrage at my attempts….

Au revoir!



Thanks to Summer France for hosting our week of adventures….





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