The night of November 16th 2017 – I was in the kitchen with my mum and sister drinking copious amounts of Prosecco and dancing to Paloma Faith with party hats.

I barely ever drink, so there had to be a good enough reason for me to get completely pissed and share my love to the women who the mean most to me.

‘Cry baby’ was the highlight of our night, I’m pretty sure I downed Prosecco out of a measuring jug at one point.

Despite us having a blast, dancing as if I was on stilts and having fits of giggles; I still found myself running upstairs every half hour, screaming into the bathroom towel and sobbing.

I woke up the morning after with a blasting headache and I felt the room spinning, but the event of what was to come was much, much worse.

I packed up the last couple of boxes and cleared a few draws. I saw my son walk out his bedroom for the last time and watched my daughter play peacefully in our bare living room.

We were moving 100 miles away to live with my Dad in Oxford.

Although this didn’t exactly come as a shock, I had been waiting anxiously for this very moment for months.

As I got into the car I burst into tears. I shouted at my mum “Why did this have to happen!”.. weeping into my tissues.

I couldn’t quite believe that the town I had grown to know, to love – the town I had given birth in twice; I was leaving it all behind.

Without going into too much detail, this wasn’t an easy decision. To be honest I wasn’t given much choice.

We arrived in Oxford and I was completely exhausted – perhaps the Prosecco Party the night before didn’t help; but overall I was exhausted from spending the entire journey to Oxford just sobbing.

My eyes were bright red and I remember wanting to go straight to bed when I got to my Dad’s.

We were now homeless.

Although we weren’t sleeping on the streets – we were very fortunate that I had family that were kind enough to let us live with them, but where society is concerned, we were considered a homeless family.

The months leading up to this moment, my son questioned why we were having to leave; I tried to tell him that I wanted to be closer to our family.

But I knew deep down he spent most nights sat on the stairs and listening to me cry on the phone to my sister for hours on end.

The first couple of months were the hardest; adjusting to living with a parent again when I’d spent the last year living in my own house with my own rules was pretty difficult.

It took weeks talking to the council, sending them eviction letters and numerous telephone calls to finally be placed on their housing register.

Over 3 months I wasn’t getting anywhere with the online council house bidding. The fact that I hadn’t been homeless long enough played a big part as to why myself and my two young children weren’t top priority.

However, sleeping with my two children on a blow up bed on the living room floor seemed doable, apparently.

Months went by and I felt useless – mine and my children’s futures were in the hands of somebody else deciding if we were in need of housing, which we were, desperately.

I upped the anti-depressants which was advised by my doctor and started to feel a bit better after a few weeks; but the anxiety I felt every Wednesday at 12pm when the new bidding cycle opened was still there.

Some weeks there was no properties to the area I had local connection to, better yet, some weeks they had none at all. I started to lose hope.

It has now been 9 months since we were deemed homeless by the council. In May this year, we were finally offered a property by our local council and it was such an overwhelming feeling knowing that my children would finally have a home to call their own.

We moved into our new home last Friday and I cannot put into words the feeling I felt signing our tenancy agreement whilst my children ran around our house exploring.

It has needed a lot of work, but after a week it is finally feeling like a proper home.

I shared this story because I would like to think this could give someone the hope they need – that there is light at the end of the tunnel and there is always a rainbow after a little rain.

Thanks for reading!

Laura x


Thought of the day: motherhood


With the beast from the east upon us, it’s meant the kids and I have been home bound. Living in a village, the roads are ridiculously dangerous and unfortunately for us, driving to and from places is our only option, or so it was.

That’s probably the biggest downfall for living where we do – you have to drive to get anywhere you need to because everything is so far away.

With the weather being how it is at the moment, we’ve spent the majority of the time indoors. Trying to entertain them as much as I can before we all go stir crazy is proving difficult. Alfie has spent some of his time outside playing with his friends, but within half an hour he’s back –

“Let me in, my toes are frozen!” 

And if he isn’t complaining about the cold; he’s inside glued to his XBOX (don’t judge me).

Holly on the other hand, is spending most of her time amusing herself with her toys, or watching YouTube unboxing videos. But being stuck indoors means she has every reason to be stuck to my chest like a fly on… You get the picture.

Yes, I’m talking about breastfeeding. Holly is 2 in April and I still breastfeed on demand when we’re at home. Venturing off in the car to different places gives me a break and spares me a few hours of untouched bliss.

So as you can imagine, we’re definitely feeling the cabin fever over here. Being stuck indoors with an active 8 year old and a *cough* inquisitive 23 month old, has meant my parenting has been tested immensely; which has made me question, am I failing in motherhood?

I try my best as a mother to take a ‘gentle parenting’ route.

Gentle parenting: Gentle Parenting is a scientific, evidence based, approach to raising confident and happy children. It is a parenting ethos characterised by the following four tenets: Empathy, Respect, Understanding, Boundaries. Gentle Parents are ‘mind minded’, that is they raise their children in a manner that they are aware and considerate of the child’s feelings.

I have tried to understand their frustration of being stuck indoors, be empathetic that they’re upset our plans to go to the farm this Sunday were cancelled, and respect their feelings of complete cabin fever in the hope they’ll respect mine.

But the past couple of days, I have gone completely against my parenting ethos. I have shouted probably more than I ever have, I’ve become frustrated with their frustration and I’ve become agitated if they begin getting upset over plans we can’t do.

Am I failing at this motherhood thing? Or perhaps I set myself for failure by trying to be the best mum I can be, all of the time. Their isn’t a worse feeling than when you’re sat in the bathroom sobbing because you snapped at your child for no reason whatsoever.

It’s very easy to compare yourself and your parenting with other parents. You know, the ones you see on Instagram playing in the snow with their children, flat laying their children’s ridiculously healthy lunch time meals and there is nothing but laughter and smiles throughout their entire Instagram feed.

Where is the TANTRUMS?



That is the power of social media. I am too guilty of portraying our lives to be picture perfect and #parentingonpoint, and I do wonder if anyone ever glimpses at my Instagram feed and thinks the same as I do.

Patience has been tested, parenting doubted and my mental state questioned. Am I failing in motherhood? Probably. Will I always fail in motherhood? Most definitely. But I know for sure my kids think I’m acing this entire parenting thing, and they adore me, no matter what.




Thought of the day: Time 


Time, it’s something isn’t it? It’s precious, sometimes fast, sometimes slow and a real stress creator. I’m the sort of person to always think ahead – what needs to be done next, worrying about things in the future, rarely living in the moment and, before I know it, time has passed me by without even realising.


Looking forward to something is one thing, but wishing time away is another. And that’s what I am guilty for.

Last year was possibly one of the hardest years I’ve lived. Emotionally, mentally and physically. So, I took time out. And it was probably the best decision for me at that moment, I focused on myself, my kids and rebuilding our lives again.

I am now bringing up my two children in a beautiful, quiet village in the Cotswolds. I feel refreshed, calm and at peace, my children are happy, we are happy, and instead of me wishing time away, I’ve learnt to live in the moment.

After taking time out, I decided to start blogging again, it’s something I’ve always loved; taking pictures, documenting my children grow and to brain dump on an evening when the kids are in bed.

Without giving myself the space I so desperately needed – I would’ve completely fizzed out and the possibility of me blogging again would have been a big fat zero.

“You can’t pour from an empty cup, take care of yourself first” – I truly believe that.

I was tired of having nothing better to write about other than how my life was going to shit, how I couldn’t cope with my kids and struggling with depression; because let’s be real.. No-one likes a negative nelly do they?

*Note to self: stop being a negative nelly.

So here it begins.. again:

The Delaney Diaries – The name came quite easy if I’m honest, Delaney being my surname and Diaries as that’s basically what I use a blog for. It’s a change from the blog name which I had previously, but I thought a change would be more appropriate with a fresh start.

What’s it about? – I have decided to carry on with the Family Lifestyle theme. After all, I am a mum of two. It will include personal experiences, reviews, days out, tips & tricks, advice, photography and most importantly, a space for me to write about things which I’m passionate about and interest me.

Thanks for reading.

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