Confessions of a Naturist Mum: Chief Referee, Craft Queen and Mother of Four (Yes, Four… Including Him)

Let me just clear something up from the start: raising a naturist family is basically the same as raising any other family… except there’s less laundry and a lot more sun cream.

People imagine we spend our days frolicking through meadows in slow motion like we’re auditioning for a very niche yoghurt advert. The reality? I’m still scraping dried cereal off bowls, shouting “WHO LEFT THE MILK OUT?!” and reminding teenagers that grunting is not a full sentence.

The only difference is sometimes I’m doing it without pockets.

The Dad: My Fourth Child (Especially When He’s “Poorly”)

I love my husband dearly. He’s a wonderful father. He’s kind, funny, and very involved… until he gets a cold.

At the first sniffle he transforms. Suddenly, he’s wrapped in a blanket like a Victorian orphan, whispering, “I think it’s flu…” while Googling his symptoms dramatically.

Meanwhile, I’m managing:

• One teen in an existential crisis because someone left them on read

• Another teen who only appears to raid the fridge

• Then there’s the youngest who has just told me she needs cardboard, glitter, and “something that looks like a Roman aqueduct” by tomorrow morning

• A dog that thinks every squirrel is a personal attack

• And a man who needs half hourly updates on his temperature

Naturist household or not, when Dad is poorly, I gain an extra child.

The only upside? No laundry pile of dramatic sick-day pyjamas.

Craft Homework: My Personal Olympic Event

I don’t know who designs primary school craft homework, but I suspect they hate parents.

“Please build a fully functioning Viking longship using only recycled materials.”

Ah yes. Of course. Let me just fetch my emergency stash of lollipop sticks and structural engineering skills.

As the family glue (and I mean that literally – I’ve had PVA stuck to my elbow for three days), I’m the one who:

• Finds the cardboard

• Calms the meltdown

• Locates the one pair of scissors that actually cuts

• Ensures no one glues the dog

Doing craft homework as a naturist mum adds an extra level of risk. Glitter. Everywhere. Places glitter should never be. Ever.

“A Woman’s Work Is Never Done”

It’s true. The to-do list regenerates overnight like a hydra.

• Meals to cook

• Floors to sweep

• Teen moods to decode

• WhatsApp groups to survive

• A full time job

• Dog walks to complete (rain or shine, because apparently dogs don’t believe in weather excuses)

And yes, I do all this as a naturist mum. But here’s the thing people don’t realise…

It’s really no different.

We still argue about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher.

We still have that one child who leaves empty bottles in the fridge.

We still negotiate screen time like international diplomats.

The only real difference? There’s a little more freedom. A little more openness. A lot less body awkwardness.

Managing Teen Moods (Without the Drama Wardrobe)

Raising teenagers is like living with two part-time philosophers who are permanently tired.

But growing up in a naturist home does something subtle and powerful. There’s less shame. Less hiding. Less “I hate how I look today.”

When bodies aren’t treated like something scandalous, they stop being such a battlefield.

That doesn’t stop the mood swings, obviously. Nothing stops the mood swings. But it softens them. There’s a calm acceptance in the house. We’re all just human. We all have wobbly bits. We all have bad days.

And sometimes we all need chocolate.

Dog Walks: The Great Leveller

Let me tell you something humbling: no matter how serene and liberated your lifestyle is, a muddy dog does not care.

Dog walks are my therapy. Rain on my face, wind in my hair, dog pulling like it’s entering the Grand National. It’s grounding. It resets the chaos.

Naturism, for me, is about that connection. Fresh air. Openness. Being comfortable in your own skin – literally and emotionally.

Then I get home and someone’s eaten the last biscuit.

The Glue That Holds It All Together

If I had a pound for every time I’ve:

• Mediated a sibling dispute

• Found missing trainers

• Located Dad’s keys (in his hand)

• Remembered non-uniform day

• Reassured a teen they’re enough

…I could retire.

Being the glue isn’t glamorous. It’s quiet work. It’s emotional labour. It’s knowing who needs space and who needs a hug. It’s holding everything steady so everyone else can wobble safely.

And honestly? Whether clothed or not, motherhood is motherhood.

The difference in our naturist home is this: there’s a strong undercurrent of care. Of acceptance. Of “you’re fine as you are.” And that makes the chaos lighter somehow.

So yes, I’m a naturist mum.

But I’m also:

• Chief snack distributor

• Craft emergency services

• Teenage translator

• Dog-walking enthusiast

• Wife of a grown man who cannot function with a mild cold

A woman’s work may never be done…

…but at least there’s less ironing.

And that, my friends, is true liberation.