funny

Mama’s had a day

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 2 Comments

Oh oh oh (or should that be Ho Ho Ho given the festive season is deffo upon us?) I have had a BAD day.

Compounded by the serendipitous sods law that this weekend Popeye is duty watch. Of course.

First of all- I committed a major Mum Fail. I forgot Christmas Jumper Day. This puts me squarely on Father Christmas’s naughty list. And Sweetpeas naughty list too if the meltdown she had in the playground this morning is anything to go by.

Picture the scene: It was a cool crisp morning. We were characteristically running late because Mummy had had too many Sauvignon Blancs and had stayed up to watch the election results come rolling in.

We briskly (because of the aforementioned lateness) walk across the playground and she notices that “EVERYONE IS WEARING CHRISTMAS JUMPERS MUMMY! Why have I NOT GOT MINE???”

As other parents dropped of their kids with a kiss on the cheek and a wish of “have a good day darling cherub!” My darling blessings had a meltdown, in the middle of the playground complete with loud wails of “why did you forget mummy- I TOLD you to check the newsletter!!!” (Sweetpea is 5 but has a better handle on current affairs in her world than many of the major politicians at this time).

So after chucking her at the classroom door I grabbed sproglet and we dashed back home. I found a sparkly Christmas-esque jumper, drove back and lobbed it at the unsuspecting receptionist.

“Now” thinks me “im glad that’s over…on with my day”.

I had planned to go to the garage to fix a slow puncture. It was only a 20 min wait, sproglet entertaining the other customers by trying out new cars to buy and being very excited that the map of the country on BBC news was blue- her favourite colour.

Over the polite/slightly annoyed chuckles of the other customers and vauxhall staff, I am informed that my tyre has a nail in it that has gone through to the inner bit and also it’s on the side of the tyre and therefore it cannot be repaired and I need a whole new tyre. (I have no idea what an inner tyre is or why the outside of the wheel is so vulnerable versus the middle bit but whatever).

I calmly enquire how much a new tyre will be. They reply. I think I may be having some kind of stroke. I ask them to repeat the figure. I have a mild panic as we are well skint in the run up to Christmas and we don’t have spare cash pouring out of our orifices to spoof away on tyres.

Luckily for me- I have my credit card. Strictly only to be used for Very Serious Grown Up Emergencies and definitely not to be used for any of the following:

  • Barbie Mermaid films on Amazon Prime
  • The latest series of The Handmaids Tale
  • Monthly beauty box subscription
  • Clothes
  • Emergency wine.

Even though I obviously would never EVER use my Grown Up credit card for the above- it mysteriously had drawn itself nearer its limit. I knew this, sitting in the Vauxhall garage. I felt a bit sick.

Nonetheless I knew I could use it for such an extravagance as a tyre. I pulled out my purse, to find the credit card, with hair flick and a confident smile to the garage man (no one wants the garage man to know you’re skint) aaaaand it’s gone.

Not there.

I give a high pitched slightly hysterical giggle and pull out ALL my cards. Debit card x 2, library card, national insurance card, driving licence, several old gift cards that have about £0.05 balances, zoo pass, gym pass, club card, THREE casino cards (embarrassing), my maternity exemption certificate (my kids are 3&5 years old-no idea why I still have that).

No credit card. Gone.

I turn to poor innocent Sproglet who has a penchant for being a light fingered Dickensian thief playing with mummy’s things and interrogate ask her is she’s nicked borrowed one of mummy’s special money cards. She claims innocence.

So- in front of alllllll the people there (who knew Vauxhall dealers were so busy?) we leave. We are on a quest (I tell myself)- a quest to Find The MasterCard of Destiny.

We are cast out of the warm confines of the Vauxhall dealers. Out into the cold cold winter wind.

The main problem with this quest is that it is mid December. And on the day of the quest we were running late for the school run and there was the whole evil Xmas jumper day forgetting mother drama- so we

were NOT dressed for extreme cold. We had coats over T-shirt’s. No hat scarves or gloves. It was bitterly cold. Sproglet started crying. She fell over twice during the long trek back home. All the time I was worrying about where the fuck she had hidden her thief stash accidentally left my credit card.

We (eventually, after many trials and tribulations) get home. I set her up watching CBeebies (standard). I go for a fag and swear at the sky immediately start looting methodically searching the house.

I looked ALL MORNING. It was gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

Bollocks.

So I check my banking app. Hmm several transactions from Luxembourg. I have never been to Luxembourg. In fact I probably have only ventured as far as London in the last few months. I’m not entirely sure where Luxembourg is.

This is Luxembourg. Looks lovely doesn’t it. Shame it’s filled with credit card stealing twats.

Shit.

I ring Popeye. It goes to that snooty bitch otherwise known as “Voicemail” because he’s on ship.

I leave a second “losing my mind” voicemail (the first was mid walk home when I was cold, alone panicking and ashamed- I may have also sworn at him a bit- uncalled for. My bad).

Give up on contacting my husband. Remember I’m a Navy Wife. Realise I can do this. This is nothing compared to what I’ve coped with before.

I ring the bank. I speak to a lovely lovely lovely man called Rishi (who also spoke to Sproglet who was watching Moana- Rishi apparently looks like Maui- they spent some time bonding over this whilst I was trying to sort out my life).

Disclaimer: this is in no way an accurate representation of Rishi and his amazing customer service skillz

Rishi calmed me down and sorted out my funds. Credit Card is locked.

Me and Sproglet walk back in appropriate winter attire. By this time it’s time to pick up Sweetpea from school. We get home. Popeye rings. He has not heard the manic, panicked voicemails. I fill him in.

He has the termerity to ask me “what else did you manage to get done today?”.

My head explodes.

I open the wine and blog about it.

If you’re a military spouse- you get it.

As they say in Luxembourg- Proust!

Muchos love,

Olive x

P.s- also this:

Xxxxx

I’m baaack!

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ Leave a comment

Hey you guys, I’m back! All I can do is massively apologise for letting my blog slide these last few months pretty much a year. But like I’ve said to you before, I felt like a fraud, a trickster, a charlatan, basically for being happy.

The mythical shore draft was everything we have dreamt about (and by “we” I mean navy wives, not sailors).

I’ve had almost 18 months of help, of weekday evenings watching TV together, of having an actual adult physically there to co-parent with.

I have been living the dream and loving it.

But unfortunately, like every dream at some point you have to wake up

Btw the title to this article is a total South Park reference. Soz if you don’t get it.

So I will be a “normal” navy wife again soon. Popeye is due back on ship at some point in the not too distant future and I will go back to living my life and routine at the whim of the Royal Navy.

It was fun while it lasted. I guess now the kids are a bit older I will have more stressful and slightly unhinged hilarious anecdotes to share with you.

I have visions of parents evenings, after school clubs and general feral children running through my mind. I can only assume that that, plus marriage to a sailor, will provide good writing material?

I’ve always been a glass half full kind of girl.

Muchos love

Olive x

(P.S don’t forget to subscribe to Homeport magazine for exclusive articles written just for them! They are basically like the ones I write for here except Mike the Editor won’t let me swear.)

Super Positive Coping Mummy

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ Leave a comment

Obvious statement alert: Deployment with children is very different to deployment when it’s just you to think about.

I mean, there’s the stuff  you kind of know you’re going to have to do; like explaining where mummy/daddy is, doing countdowns with sweets and sticker charts et al but what about the other stuff?

The stuff pre-children-navy-wife-olive had no idea about whatsoever.

Before starting a family I could (and did) wear pjs for a whole weekend, eat my weight in ice cream and have mad nights out with friends to numb the pain. I could cry at leisure and put on destinys child full blast whilst painting my toenails at 11pm at night because it made me feel better.

Now I have to be Super Positive Coping Mummy. SPC Mummy puts on a brave front, answers any and all heartbreaking “where’s daddy?” Type questions with a smile and a biscuit. SPC Mummy doesn’t drink (much) lovely lovely wine the night daddy goes because no matter what SPC Mummy is available 24/7 to attended to all and any small people needs. Including needing jam on toast at 5 freaking AM. SPC Mummy doesn’t get to watch soppy films all morning huddled under the duvet with chocolate, SPC Mummy is carrying on with going to the park, walking the dog and remembering to take carrier bags with her to Lidl.

Pre children when Popeye rang I was able to (literally) drop everything, hurdle the dog and drop roll over the coffee table to get to the phone.

Post children- I have missed the phone ringing due to bathtimes, being stuck under a sleeping newborn who has finally gone to sleep with the phone just out of reach, not to mention the ringtone obliterator that is sodding tots n tunes. Ten or so toddlers “singing” wind the bloody bobbin up is unsurprisingly incompatible with hearing Popeyes personalised “captain Pugwash” ringtone.

And if by some strange fluke of chance you actually get to answer the phone you now have to share those precious few minutes with a small person covered in jam that just wants to talk about Peppa Pig/ an interesting stone they found/ how mummy won’t give her another chocolate egg (side note: my daughter is still devastated Easter is over. Several months later she still blames me).

I never even considered having to explain to my toddler that every single boat does not have daddy on it. I never thought for a second that I would have to compare our family unit to that of Danny Dog from (of course) that Pig cartoon. Because Danny’s daddy goes away then comes back and decides to never leave again. So thank you for that conversation Peppa. Because my daughters daddy isn’t coming home for a long long time and then will have to go away again. And again. Unlike Mr Dog.

During bedtimes (when no one will just go the heck to sleep) I’ve daydreamed about a cartoon where there is an actual military family portrayed, showing our strength and resilience. Demonstrating the sacrifices we make in every day situations and it’s no biggie. How we switch from being a parenting team to the practical equivalent of single parents in the blink of an eye.

SPC Mummy probably should have her own TV show. Or at least a cape.

If it were a cartoon the most important thing it could  give my daughters is an example of how our military family is a normal family.

Even if they do have jam smeared on their faces and stones in their pockets, this is their normal and now a deployment with children has become my normal too.

SPC Mummy- away!!!!

*swirls around in her cape and flies off to solve another deployment related toddler question*

Deployment dreams

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ Leave a comment

Ok *oversharing alert* family and friends click away now.

Popeye has just reminded me of something that has happened every deployment and I’m wondering if it happens to you too.

Thing is, it’s a tad embarrassing.

A smidge, a pinch, a wee bit cringe inducing.

Soooo….

When your partner deploys, companionship and wholesome friendship issues aside, it leaves a big gap in your sex life. There’s a *ahem* how do I put it- a romantic need that he just *ahem* can’t fulfill because he is several thousand miles away.

We all have our own “coping mechanisms” and this post is not about that. It’s about something else that happens after a “dry spell” spanning several months.

Every time Popeye has been on deployment I have had (occasional) rude dreams.

(This, so far, is pretty normal right? Stay with me. It gets weird)

Every time Popeye has been on deployment I have had rude dreams that are not starring Popeye.

(Ok ok we’re all grown ups here, we can admit that dreaming about someone other than your partner does happen and although totes cringey and not something you mention down the phone- not exactly something entering into the realms of bizarre.)

Here it is- 

Every time Popeye has deployed I have had rude dreams about low status TV personalities. 

Not even proper slebs! These fantasy dreams have starred such well known hotties as 

  • Alan Titchmarsh


    And

    • Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall 


    …
    Each time I’ve woken up totally and utterly freaked out and emailed Popeye in a state of utter squeamishness. 


    I don’t know why my subconscious seeks out middle aged gardeners and organic chefs as prime X rated dream stars.

    But it does. And it scares me. I don’t get my brain. When I’m awake, they do nothing for me. Sorry Al and Hugh, no offence but you’re just not my type(s). 

    Tell me I’m not the only one?

    Seriously, you guys have had freaky weird sex dreams too, right guys? Right?!

    Muchos love

    Olive x 

    Farting when they’re home

    ~ oliveoylnavywife ~ Leave a comment

    When your partner is away you can independently let loose with (ahem) flatuence – whenever you need to.


    For civvy couples this kind of thing doesn’t happen to them.

    They must have a well worked out routine of either: 

    1. Storing up farts until one of the couple falls asleep-then letting loose.
    2. All out, no hold barred, ass emissions as and when necessary.

    I don’t really see any middle ground here for them civvies.

    However- In the Oyl household, or maybe just in military households: 

    Farting is definitely option 2 when Popeye is deployed, and then I try my very best for option 1 when he is home ( at least for the first two weeks of leave).

    With the Oyl Household system, there is, an unfortunate overlap come homecoming time.

    This time, when he has just come home. That magical time when he’s still unpacking, you are trying not to yell at the children and also trying not to guzzle the wine at the rate you normally do.

    When you are trying to be sexy and cool and up-together.

    When you are a trying to be a Kirsty Allsop- esque mum. And failing.

    And then. There’s a rumbling.

    The old pelvic floor gives a creak and-

    You guff.

    Its not even a quiet one. Not even one you can blame on the kids or the dog.

    It’s bad.

    In both the olfactory sense and the relationship sense. It’s bad.

    And then you look at him and see his momentary disgust. Then humour. And ultimately his respect.

    Because yes I fart. And yes he loves me.

    Not in spite. 

    But because.


    Because he loves me and because (shock horror) humans pass gas. This is what our bodies do when we are healthy and fucking comfortable. 

    It is embarrassing for that micro second before he laughs and before I remember he has encountered much worse on deployment. 

    (P.s screw you Kirsty “let’s-all-casually-weave-a-basket/go-glass-blowing”- Allsop).

    Muchos love ❤️ 

    Alternative “open when” letters. For the realistic military wife.

    ~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 2 Comments

    I’ve been thinking I might have a go at writing some “open when” letters for Popeye. I’m sure you’ve all heard of them. Maybe some of you have even sent them, if you have I’m a teeny but in awe/jelly.

    “Open when” letters are letters you write before they deploy that they can open when they’ve deployed at various pre stipulated points. 

    For example they might say “open when…

    • You’re missing me
    • It’s your birthday
    • It’s our anniversary
    • You’ve had a bad day
    • You’ve reached the halfway point of the deployment.

    Etc etc.


    They are a really lovely idea and I’m sure they bring a lot of satisfaction and happiness to many of you. 

    But (you knew there would be a but didn’t you!) they just ain’t my style. 

    If me and Popeye were to do this, there would be some serious reality checks involved.

    First of all I don’t know when the fuck I would find the time to write a dozen or so poignant declarations of love and reassurance. I barely have time to wash myself or go for a wee in private. Also I’d much rather spend those last few days actually hanging out with Popeye.

    Secondly I’m 95%sure Popeye would either read them all in one sitting or forget about them until I mentioned them on the phone and/or the night before homecoming. Kind of ruins the magic a tad.

    Thirdly I would be so tempted to put joke answers inside. I don’t think I can be trusted not to be a complete cow and do something like this-

    “Open when… you feel like crying” *Popeye, with a sniff, opens letter*

    “….ha ha ha ….tit…”

    Or “open when…. you are homesick”

    *opens letter, maybe a bit more guarded this time*

    “….man up or hand in your notice… p.s it’s horrible here anyway…”.

    Yeah maybe that’s not the best way to go.

    I know!

    Got it. I’m going to write him “Open when” letters, for a real (as in boring and normal) military relationship, my ideas so far include:

    • Open when…you’ve spent £200-500 on a night out, phone me from the dockside at 3am slurring, have fallen over and can’t figure out how to hold your phone and stand up at the same time
    • Open when… you forgot to top up your phone card and we get cut off mid conversation. Even though I reminded you yesterday.
    • Open when… you haven’t emailed me for days because you’re “so busy” at work but there are Facebook photos of you by the pool and/or selfie with a monkey in gib.
    • Open when… you realise I’ve spent hours buying, packing and posting out parcels to you and you moan I forgot to put in jelly beans.
    • Open when… you think it’s a sane idea to give me parenting suggestions from hundreds of miles away
    • Open when… you’re on a beach sipping cocktails and seriously say that you’d rather be here in rainy old Blighty than a tropical beach paradise luxury resort 
    • Open when… you casually mention on the phone you’ve been doing the T25 work out for the last two months and how it’s going really well knowing full well I’m halfway down a bottle of rosé and have eaten an entire Terry’s chocolate orange since you rang.

    And the best thing about this is that I can save time and effort in the contents of the letters! A one-word-fits-all “open when” letter system! 

    Simply

    “….prick…”

    I’ll let you know how I get on,

    Muchos love,

    Olive

    P.s the choc orange was totally worth it.

    X

    Things I do when my husband isn’t here

    ~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 1 Comment

    I just got home without Popeye and strangely instead of crying or shouting or collapsing into the floor I stood in the middle of the room and let rip the biggest fart ever, right there in the living room. 

    After the shock and knee jerk reaction blushing, all I thought was “fuck yeah Olive! Now I can do whatever the fuck I want to!”

    It was liberating, it was exhilarating, it was a little bit scary.

    And as I stood there post fart, hands on hips, chin up in what will now and forever be known as the F U Deployment Fart Pose, I got to thinking. 

    What else can I now do that I can’t when Popeye is home?!?! 

    This is what I have come up with so far whilst the girls are being raised on Peppa Pig and I curl up on the sofa trying not to cry:

    1. Spend ages looking for spots in the mirror.
    2. Watch such high brow TV as Buffy, I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and GBBO.
    3. Let the dog sleep on the bed (shhhh).
    4. Put all of Popeyes clothes in a big pile in the bottom of the wardrobe so I can use his drawers for my stuff.
    5. Buy and eat food he doesn’t like all the time. YES!
    6. Fart as I go. 
    7. Actually talk to and meet up with friends instead of being a super flakey crap friend when he’s home.
    8. Go on social media all evening if I want to. Without feeling guilty im not spending magical romantic time with him. 
    9. Secretly throw out any of his honking Pussers socks that I come across. 
    10. Order whatever bloody dominoes I want (as a side note- there’s nothing wrong with Texas BBQ chicken).
    11. And potentially the most exciting thing- NO MORE STAR TREK OR GODDAMN PLAYSTATION!

    What have I missed?

    Muchos love,

    Olive X 

    Jill speak

    ~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 1 Comment

    Hey there lovelies, got an idea for you.

    How’d you like the put some zing back in your relationship? Become that mysterious lady (or lad) of intrigue and whimsy once more? You would? Well then I have a little game for you! 

     Jill Speak!

    Does your Popeye speak to work colleagues in another language? Does he respond to a name that is not his own? Do you sometimes have no idea what on earth he’s on about?

    If the answer to any of these is “yes” then Jill Speak is just the game for you! And the great part is that the whole family can get involved too!

       
    To play Jill Speak casually start using some of your Popeyes top-secret-navy-life-sailor-code-words into everyday conversation! Then sit back and enjoy the shock, confusion and then (hopefully) amusement on his face. 

    I play it with my Popeye all the time and to be honest it annoys him. But who cares when playing it (and the look on his face!) is so much fun. 

    P.s another great feature of Jill Speak is that you can modify it for whatever service your partner is in! For example, for my RM readers- don’t walk the dog- say you’re taking the dog on a dog yomp! 

    Here are some examples/ideas: 

    When asking him if he’s home next weekend- “have you got weekenders?” 

    On bin day- “can you take out the gash bag please darling?”

    At bedtime- “right I’m off to my pit, nighty night!”

    When discussing the shopping list or at mealtimes- “what scran should I get in my love?”

    Instead of reading a bedtime story, get your kids to ask their sailor for a “bedtime dit please”. 

    When out and about and in need of caffeine, tell your service person to “get the wets in”.

    When your sprog does something particularly well, like gets 10/10 on their spellings, make sure to tell them it was “BZ” within earshot of your sailor. 

    And finally if he is in need of a compliment, or you’re hoping to get your groove on simply sidle up to him, stare into his eyes lovingly and tell him “hey their gorgeous, looking turbo divs tonight” and watch him glow with amor (or be completely gobsmacked).

      
    Another twist on Jill Speak if you truly want to create that Navy Ship feel at home (Kirsty Allsop eat you heart out) is to start calling all family members and friends by a different name!

    Base their new Navy Nickname on something they did years ago that no one really remembers, a physical characteristic or (very very) loosely connected to their existing name. So if you have a Great Aunty Audrey she could now and forever be referred to as “Hepburn”, “Hep” or “Burnsy”. 

    Remember the more embarrassing the story that inspired the name or the more random and difficult to figure out, the better. For real authenticity dont explain the new name to anyone. Ever.

      
    If your Popeye is deployed then you can still play Jill Speak! You can easily sneak phrases into emails or when chatting on the phone. The stunned silence and (usually) string of baffled expletives that follow are well worth the phone card minutes.  It also pretty much guarantees a speedy email reply (unless comms are down of course) along the lines of “how do you know that word? I don’t like you using Jackspeak. You’ve freaked me out Olive!” Good times. 

    However you decide to play Jill Speak have fun. Get creative and get the whole family onboard! See how many you can think of and shoehorn into everyday chit chats with your Popeye. 

    Do let me know how you get on. 

    Lots of love,

    Olive X 

    Deployment Detectors™: The hidden menace in your house. 

    ~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 2 Comments

    This is a washing machine. Fairly normal right? Just a run of the mill bog standard white household appliance.

      
     
    But wait! Look a little closer.

    That washing machine is in the house of a service person!

    Recent research has brought to light a startling discovery, brace yourselves:

    All household appliances built post WWII have built in Deployment Detectors™. 

    Deployment Detectors™ are a microscopic nano technology, invisible to the naked eye, that can easily be incorporated into motherboards, microchips, petrol caps, fridge lights and electrical plugs. These teeny weeny microchips can fit literally anywhere and in any piece of equipment you need to use in order to carry on as a functioning member of society.

      
    Yes, I hear you cry, but what do they do?! 

    Well, after extensive and thorough testing at Oyl Labs we have found that Deployment Detectors™ use sophisticated sensors to monitor the environment. And in the house of a military family their true purpose is revealed.

      
     

    When a deployment has begun, a chain reaction of drinking wine, having a good old cry, installing a countdown app on your phone and sleeping in “his” dirty t shirts causes certain pheromones to be emitted by the partner of said service person. 

    These deployment pheromones are picked up by household appliances fitted with a Deployment Detector™  which springs into life, randomly shooting out electrical/mechanical/spiritual signals into the appliance. 

    Deployment Detectors™ cause the appliance to break without warning. But only when your service person has left on deployment. 

      

    Note: They are at their most effective when you are late for work, have looked forward to something all day and/or have too much month left at the end of the money. 

    Why do Deployment Detectors™ exist?

    Good question. Here at Oyl Labs we can only surmise that it was some evil Nazi plot to drive military wives and girlfriends over the edge during deployment. A second, more modern theory is that Isis have in fact infiltrated most high street retailers and they are doing this because they hate to see women (and men) kick ass coping with deployment. Further research is needed to determine the true origins of these devices. 

    All I can say for now is be vigilant, and don’t fight it. Expect for household appliances to break as soon as your Popeye sails over the horizon. And expect it to break at the most stressful time with the most stressful repercussions.

    Knowledge is power.

    (Olive Oyl is in no way affiliated with Deployment Detectors™. All associations mentioned herein are coincidental. Research carried out under strict laboratory conditions at Olive Towers Laboratorys (Inc) and adhered to health and safety regulations (2005). All published data is attributed to Olive Oyl Labs©.)

    Sleepy sailors

    ~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 1 Comment

    Is it just my sailor that has some navy induced narcolepsy syndrome or is it ALL sailors?!

    How is it that they can fall into a deep deep sleep at the drop of a hat, mid sentence- no matter where they are or what is going on?!

    Even if it’s a very important relationship type convo, even if you are annoyed with them. Even if you are at the IOW festival and there are wheelie bins flying past your tented head at a gazillion mph. 

    With a “yes dear” and a small nod of the head, his eyelids close and no amount of talking or poking will wake him up. Even after 8 hours of solid slumber. 

    I’ve only once resorted to putting on my loud speaker voice and saying authoritatively  “Leading Hand Popeye report to the galley, Leading Hand Popeye-Galley”.

    He shot out of bed looking v v confused, then v v pissed off as he realised he was in fact at Casa del Oyl and not in his pit onboard.

    How very mean of me indeed. 

    Worked though. 😉

    X