Half-Term Hustle: Where My Money Went and My Peace Left

Every school holiday, we dream of quality time, laughter, bonding moments… and then half-term shows up like a storm with two hungry children, unpredictable weather, and receipts longer than my patience. As a Black mum of a 13-year-old and an 8-year-old, I’m here to keep it real and tell you exactly how it went down. Spoiler alert: it involves trampoline socks, Morleys, and me asking the universe why I’m paying to watch my own kids run wild.

Half-Term Madness: Why I’m Paying to Watch My Own Kids Eat Me Outta House and Home

Let me tell you something: half-term rolls around, and suddenly I’m a personal chef, events coordinator, and walking cash machine—all rolled into one. I’ve got two kids: one 13, one 8. One thinks she’s grown, the other thinks I’m her full-time entertainer. And both of them? Eating like I’ve got a secret Nando’s in my kitchen.

Now I don’t know who decided that school holidays should be this long, but I’d like a word. Because the second school’s out, they’re looking at me like, “Mum, what are we doing today?” Excuse me? I don’t recall signing up to host a two week-long adventure camp.

First of all—activity planning. That right there is spiritual warfare. The teen just wants to scroll TikTok and pretend she doesn’t know me in public. The 8-year-old? She wants to run wild like she’s starring in her own Disney Channel special. And me? I just want to sit down for five minutes without hearing, “Mum, I’m hungry.”

We did bowling—£50 gone in an hour, and the teenager said it was “meh.” Trampoline park? £5 for socks. Socks, Special socks I can’t even use to clean my floors. And why, someone tell me WHY, am I paying to sit there and watch them bounce? I’m not jumping. I’m not playing. I’m literally standing there like security with a handbag. Let me in free and give me a chair at least!

Then there’s the food. Listen. These kids eat like I’m running a buffet. I packed sandwiches, drinks, fruit—trying to be a good mum. What do they say? “Mum, this is boring. Can we get chips?” So now we’re buying overpriced chicken nuggets and juice like I got it like that. One day I caught myself saying, “We got food at home”—and I meant it with my chest.

By day three, I started planning “activities” like watching a movie at home or “helping Mum tidy up” because guess what? I’m tired. Half-term is a hustle, and don’t let Instagram fool you—nobody’s having that much fun. We're just trying to survive without losing our minds or overdrafting the bank account.

Now that half-term is over? Listen—I love my kids, but I was ready for them to go back to school by week one. The house is quieter, the fridge isn’t crying, and my bank account can finally breathe again. We even got a little break when they had a sleepover at Aunty’s house. Free time? Yes. Did I use it to relax? Of course not. I cleaned like I was auditioning for Supernanny. But still—peace and quiet hit different when it’s your own house.

Still, I’ll say this: seeing them happy, hearing them laugh (even when they’re cracking up at something that not funny🤨), it does something to your heart. But next time? I’m starting a GoFundMe just for snacks. And I want a loyalty card for every time I pay to stand around doing nothing but supervising vibes.

Black Mum Half-Term Tip #1: Pack snacks like you’re feeding a youth football team.

Tip #2: “No” is a full sentence.

Tip #3: If they say they’re bored, hand them a mop.

Thanks  for stopping by

Black Muva💋

Setting Boundaries with Grandma: A Lesson I Didn't See Coming

I’ve never really been the “boundaries” type. At least, not until I got older and had kids.

I never thought the day would come where I’d have to set boundaries with my own mum — their grandma — when it came to my girls. But here we are.

I grew up where the “No” came faster than the speed of light. It started with the little things: spoiling them, giving them whatever they wanted, sneaking them chocolate before they even turned one. The list felt endless. At first, I let it slide. After all, that’s what grandparents are known for, right? But eventually, enough was enough.

My kids, my rules.

Growing up, if I had acted like that or pushed the limits, I would’ve gotten a quick slap. So why were the rules so different when it came to her grandkids?

The day finally came when we had to have the conversation. It went something like this:

“I’m the parent. You’re the grandmother. What I say goes.”

No sweets before dinner. No cake just because they’re cute. No bending the rules we’re trying to teach them at home.

Honestly, I was nervous about how it would go — but surprisingly, it went well. She understood. It wasn’t about taking away the fun of being a grandparent; it was about respecting the way I’m choosing to raise my girls.

Setting boundaries wasn’t easy, but it was necessary — and it ended up strengthening our relationship instead of hurting it.

Turns out, the hardest part of parenting isn’t the kids — it’s teaching grandma the rules!

Till Next Time

Unapologetically Black Muva😜

When Your Inner Teenager Wants to Throw Hands for Your Kid!

 How Do You, as a Parent, Combat Bullying?

At some point, every parent either has been there — or will end up there — standing in front of the mirror, fighting the very real urge to squeeze into your kid’s school uniform and go handle their bully yourself.

Listen, no judgment. In the heat of the moment, when you hear your child is being picked on, all logic flies right out the window. You suddenly find yourself plotting revenge during morning drop-off, mentally dusting off your old school tie like, “Say less. I’m ready.”

When your child is being bullied, it’s hard not to get emotional. I can't lie — when my daughter first ran into issues starting secondary school, I definitely had thoughts of dressing up like a student and handling it myself. Guilty!

In some cases, I actually believe that bullying can build character. It teaches kids how to defend themselves and set boundaries. If they don’t, unfortunately, it can continue.

For my daughter, she knew she had to nip it in the bud. She didn’t want to be that kid whose mum or dad had to come to school to "handle" another student. And you know what? She did just that — she fixed the situation without throwing hands, standing her ground firmly and respectfully.

Sometimes, it’s about teaching our kids resilience and giving them the tools to stand up for themselves — while also being ready to step in if they truly need us.

(Still... keep the blazer on standby. Just in case.)

✌🏾  For Now

Unapologetically Black Muva

The First Time My Daughter Faced Racism — And the Silence That Followed

My daughter’s first experience with racism happened when she was just six months old. We were at a GP practice, waiting for an appointment, when a little white boy turned to his mother and said — and I quote — "Mummy, we don't like brown people, do we?"

His words hung heavy in the air. His mother’s face immediately turned bright red, but she said nothing — no apology, no correction, no words at all. She simply got up and left abruptly, avoiding any acknowledgment of what had just happened.

It was a moment that stayed with me. My daughter was far too young to understand what had been said, but as her mother, I felt the sting deeply. It was a harsh reminder that racism isn’t something children are born with — it’s something they are taught, whether through words, silence, or inaction.

This experience was the first of many difficult truths I knew I would one day have to explain to her: that sometimes people will make judgments about her without ever knowing her, simply because of the color of her skin.

With that being said as a parent of Black children, one of the hardest conversations to have is the one about race — the moment you have to explain that the world may not always treat them fairly simply because of the color of their skin. It’s a painful truth, but one that’s necessary to prepare them for the realities they may face.

For me, this conversation isn’t a single moment; it’s an ongoing dialogue that evolves as my child grows. I first brought it up when my daughter was around 7 years old, in a way that was age-appropriate but honest. I wanted her to understand that while there is so much beauty and pride in who she is, not everyone will see it that way. Some people may judge her without ever knowing her, simply because of how she looks.

It was important to approach the conversation with a balance of truth and hope. I emphasized that although racism exists, it doesn’t define who she is or what she can achieve. I made sure she knew she is powerful, brilliant, and loved — and that she comes from a long line of people who have overcome incredible obstacles with resilience and grace.

The conversation about race isn’t a one-time "talk," but an ongoing journey of teaching, listening, and empowering. It’s about giving my daughter the tools to navigate a world that might not always be fair, while making sure she never forgets her worth and the strength of her identity.

Parenting 101

Parenting: where sleep deprivation, tantrums, and endless questions meet laughter, love, and adventure. I'm no expert, just a regular parent trying to figure things out as I go. My girls, aged 13 and 8, are my guides, teachers, and favorite people to spend time with. In this blog, I'll share our stories, struggles, and triumphs, in the hopes that they'll make you laugh, cry, or nod your head in recognition.

Welcome to my first post, where I'll be diving into the world of parenting and sharing my experiences as a mom to two lively girls who seem to have a permanent debate club going on in our household. From the constant bickering and squabbling to the moments of pure joy and connection, I'll be sharing it all. As a parent, I've learned to navigate the ups and downs of raising two unique individuals, and I'm excited to share my insights, lessons learned, and parenting hacks with you...

Thanks for stopping by

Till next time 

Unapologetically Black  muva