I am SlowCooker-Mum!

Sizzling…steamy…simmering, slow and steady… I love my Slow-cooker.

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It’s everything that I’m not on this dreary Monday morning.  I’m tired and I’m dosed, and I have to take a massive step back into reality after one of the most wonderful weeks of my little life.

But thanks to my Slow-cooker, I’m one step ahead of myself.

At 6.30am, I am sipping my coffee, enjoying the initial kick to the taste buds and waiting for the jump-start my body so desperately needs. By 6.40am, I am happily slicing and chopping; onions, chicken, carrots; Everything gets bunged in a casserole dish. Salt, pepper (a sneaky wee stock cube) and we’re done. As I head towards the shower, I have a smug little grin on my face.   Take that Monday morning!

I’ve only recently discovered this life saving invention.  It’s AMAZING! It allows me to come home from work to an aromatic kitchen.  It means that dinner is all but ready when we get in. It stops the horrible mind-boggle on the journey home, of having to figure out what’s in the fridge, what will be quick and handy to throw together in record time.

Most importantly, it gives me the gift of time. That extra hour of Mini-me time that I never before realized that I was missing.  Instead of frantically chopping and peeling, while trying to placate the hungry child, or being faced with the terrible temptation to fire on some Waffles just to feed the monster, I can add the gravy and serve up a stunning, satisfying and nutritional dinner to my little lovey.  And indeed, to myself.

Then, rather than it suddenly being half an hour before bedtime, there’s suddenly time: Time to read a story, time to simply sit beside her to watch another re-run of Peppa Pig, time to throw on a load (or three!) of washing, or time to let her indulge in a bubble bath – the not-rushed type!

I’m genuinely gunked as to how I’d never heard of the slow-cooker before now.  I’m slightly put out by the number of friends and family who have proven to be already practiced and experienced in the art of slow-cooking.  I’m ever impressed by the variety of exciting recipe groups and online slow-cooker groups available.  I’ve entered a whole new world and I love it!

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It allows me to feel on top of things as I leave for work. It gives me that warm, fuzzy glow that you get from being organised. It allows me to put a line through one of the to-dos on my daily list.  It gives me a sense of control.  Yes, I know it’s a piece of kitchen equipment, but it really does have these magical qualities. I’m smitten.

When I lift the lid off my sizzling stew this evening, it will be simmering and steamy, it will be superb and it will be bloody satisfying! My slow-cooker –  it’s 50 shades of awesome! 🙂

I am SlowCooker-Mum xx

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I am Snuggle-Mum

Duvet days. We dream of them. Yet, when we do get the chance, how many of us actually take them?

When the opportunity for a duvet day presents itself, I bet that nearly all of us, don’t actually get our behinds onto the sofa for more than ten minutes.

Duvet days should be renamed “Do it” days. These are the days where we catch up on the washing, mop the sticky floors, stock up the freezer, or finally make that phone call to sort out that insurance or bill…And these days are gooood.
We may not have spent the day relaxing, but we’ve climbed up a little of the mountain of stuff that needs done. And it might just result in having time at the weekend to snuggle.

I frequently find myself looking at my Mini-Me during my working week and just longing to spend a full day snuggled up on the sofa with her. Of course, keeping a very busy 3 year old snuggled up for more than 25 minutes, is pretty impossible.
On the rare occasion that we do get a chance to snuggle for a few hours, she gets distracted by a game or toy, (or needs a pee!), and we’re inevitably pulled from our snuglywuggles.

I’m currently off work for a few days and as usual, have list of things to do. Having just moved house, there’s a room full of boxes to unpack. I haven’t really even touched upon the things I intended to do this week. I’ve just been too bloody shattered!

Last night, a friend told me she’d stayed in her PJs until 6pm. I was instantly jealous. Of course, with two young kids, she too was busy all day, but the thought of staying in my pjs past 7.30am was just amazing. As I lay in bed this morning going through my “to-do” list got the day, I thought of her words. And I made a decision.

Today, I would do a whole pile of absolutely nothing. I promise myself that I will indeed stay in my pjs until just before I head for the theatre. Mini-me and I read stories, build jigsaws, watch Minions (for a change!), and play a very rule-free version of Twister. When she asks to “ply like tinkabell”, I pick her up and fly her around the room until we’re both in a heap of glitter and giggles on the floor.

We snuggle like we’ve never snuggled before and I enjoy every, single, snugly second… Until I remember that the bed needs made up, and I need to leave dinner for Husband, and I need to get bin labels, and Granny’s coming over to babysit later so I really should tidy up a bit and… Well, you know yourself. Reality pulls the fluffy duvet off me.
But I lasted 5 hours and it was so good while it lasted. Madam is sipping hot chocolate and is as happy as the proverbial pig, having had Mammy’s undivided attention for 5 hours. And I had hers. I got to watch her and adore her and play with her…properly. So I’m feeling pretty chilled out too… Oh! And I am still in my PJs! 😉
I am indeed Snuggle-Mum. X

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I am Showbiz mum!

Humpty Dumpty was pushed? We often hear debate about imagination. Are we responsible parents if we give our children an unedited, realistic and clinical outlook on life? Or are we fools if we immerse our little darlings in Disney, Santa Claus and fairies?  When should we give our children a reality check? When is too soon? Is there any harm in allowing them to believe image image in all things glittery and magical? Is reality prematurely injected into their lives with TV, Media…and sometimes the shitty reality of real life? Everyone has their own ideas and circumstances, but for this S-Mum, I’m all about the imagination and the happy ending.

Yesterday, I watched Mini-Me gazing into her Fairy Door (check out the Irish Fairy Door Company!) and singing to Fairy Rosie. The fairy door is a part of her daily routine. She talks to Rosie. She sings to her. She blows her a kiss every night. It’s cute and adorable, and I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

We all know that reality is unavoidable, but what’s wrong with a bit of make believe? I’m in my 30’s and love the fact that my parents have never yet told any of us that there is no Santa Claus. We figured it all out ourselves of course, but we keep the magic every year, looking forward to finding our Santa gift under the tree back at home when we visit…and long may it last!

The imagination is a powerful thing. As long as we, as parents, equip our little darlings with the skills they need to deal with reality, what’s the harm in them believing that good prevails and we can all live happily ever after?

Tonight, this big child begins her annual week of treading the boards of our local theatre, playing a big old game of “make believe” with my friends.  I’ll pretend to be a hooker from New York. We’ll sing.  We’ll dance.  We’ll laugh; and hopefully, we’ll bring our audience out of their own realities for few hours, into a world of true love and murderous, talking plants!

What’s the harm? No one will go home afraid that their plants will eat them. (Or will they?!)

After the curtain falls on Saturday night, we’ll wash off the make-up, go home to our own beds, wake up to our own worlds, play with our children, go to work and continue to live our own real lives…but we’ll have had a week to remember, playing make-believe and not hurting anyone, on the stage.

So yes, Humpty Dumpty did fall off that wall. Maybe he was smashed into smithereens. Maybe he was pushed, but in my head, he landed on a soft mattress and waddled off into a glittering sunset with Mrs. Dumpty… 💗😉 I am Showbiz Mum 😘

I am superstitious-Mum?

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I step out of the shower and look at my toes.  I then apologize, out loud, to my toenails. I think I’ve probably had the same red polish on them for months.  I vaguely remember slapping a layer of “Chick Flick Cherry” on them just before Christmas, when a unexpected offer of a babysitter allowed a last minute dinner date with Husband .  There isn’t much left on them if I’m honest.  It’s more like a thin red line across them, piteously reminding me where the polish used to be!

Whatever way I describe them, they deserve the vocalized apology, which is followed by a resolution to fix them tonight…(and then a giggle as I realize that I am talking to my toenails.)

I’m reminded of the superstitious ideas that were embedded in our minds as children.  “You have to change your underwear/socks.  God forbid you were in an accident! What would the doctors/ambulance crew etc think?”  

This thought genuinely remained as a little voice in the back of my mind every morning until one day, I realized that said hypothetical doctors etc, really wouldn’t give a toss about the state of my knickers if they had to meet me.

Some of us are superstitious about everything.  We don’t walk under ladders.  We avoid black cats.  Some of us even have lucky knickers or socks!  We NEVER put new shoes on the table! (This one bothers me…how the heck are we supposed to gaze lovingly at them?!)

We don’t step on the cracks. We bless ourselves if we pass an ambulance, even if we’re not religious.  Just in case. We wave at bloody magpies, just in case…And Heaven help us if we find a bird inside the house!

Even if we’re not superstitious, we can often find our actions being subconsciously determined by old wives’ tales.

I’m not superstitious. I think that they are harmless as long as we don’t let them take over our thinking. I remember the terror on a friend’s face when I mentioned that I’d gone to a wake when I was pregnant. At the same time, I loved the endless predictions of whether it was a boy or a girl, based on the position of bump, or my wedding ring tied on a string!  It was harmless fun.

But really, what are superstitions? Is there any truth in them, or are they born from people simply trying to make sense of something unfathomable?

Is it not just coincidence that a mirror fell and smashed two days before something bad happened?

Will buying a partner a watch, really mean that your time together is short? Did they come from people trying to explain the inexplicable?

Or did they come from parents trying to get their children to do something?  “If you don’t eat your carrots, you’ll go blind”. “If the wind changes, your face will get stuck like that.” Do we pass on these harmless notions to our kiddies without even realizing we do it?

I know I’m not in charge and that life is going to throw what it wants at me.  I’m armed with optimism and hope that it’ll all work out.  I hope that I’ll teach Mini-me what my Daddy taught me…”99% of the things you worry about, never happen.”

So today, on Friday the 13th, be as superstitious as you like.  Or don’t.  It really doesn’t matter. Tonight, I will put the Boss to bed, make dinner, pour a well deserved glass of vino and fix my poor, unloved toenails.

Not because I’m worried that I’ll have a horrible accident and that Dr. McDreamy will judge me on my chipped polish, but because they really are a mess! And I might even put on my lucky knickers! 🙂

Superstitious-Mum xxx images

Supermum?

To be someone’s Mum is a gift.  From early childhood, little girls happily play at being mum to younger siblings, or indeed to dolls, or pets.

Me, I’m the proud and doting mum of a 3 year old Drama Queen, and I am happy to admit, that I am STILL playing!  No handbook arrived with the little sweetheart.  I don’t have a degree in parenting.  I don’t have a bloody clue really!

I make it up every day.  I make decisions that I know make my own Mum cringe.  I’m sure that at times, my dear Granny shakes her perfectly blow-dried head in horror at my parenting techniques.

In fact, sometimes, I swear that I’m having an outer body experience when I deal with the child.

The Boss, as she has taken to calling her pretty self, stands in front of me; arms crossed, pout perfected, audience’s attention caught and voice ready and poised to hit those terrifying high notes…while I chuckle like a crazy lady as I watch myself try to remain in control;  Deep breaths, calm expression, remind myself that I am the adult here.

“Listen Darling.  We need to leave the toy back on the shelf for another wee child. “

I’m winning.

“Good girl.  Now, come on and we’ll go get a Babychino and then we’ll go home and watch Minions…”  (Yes, blackmail.  Get over it.  It works…sometimes.)

I have her… I just need to get her to take my hand and then we’ll skip happily out of the shop, leaving behind the assembled audience in a cloud of applause, appreciation and awe at how well that mammy handled that…

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!  I NEEEEEEEEEEEED TEDDY!!!!” Cue autotap tears and stratospheric screaming… Oh! and don’t forget the kicks and snake-like movements as I try to lift her gracefully into my arms.

I manage to wrench her under one arm, pick up the bags and move out of the shop.  The audience shake heads and probably judge.  At this moment in time, I want my Mammy!

We reach the bench outside.  I put screaming child down and hunker down to have a positive parenting style talk with her. Her beautiful blue eyes are glistening with tears and her cheeks give the word “Rosy” a new level of meaning.

“Now Madam, listen to me.  Don’t EVER…”

Her attention has been distracted by the huge cluster of helium balloons behind me.

“PEPPAAAAAAA PIG!!!  Mammy wuk!  It’s Peppa Pig bawoooooon!  I NEEEEEEEEED IT”

Tears gone.  Smile on. Adorable wee face up close into mine.  “Pweeeeease Mammy. I wub it!”

“Next day we’re out, I’ll buy you a balloon okay?”

“Okay Mammy!”

And as we do indeed, skip off towards the car, I look at the messy little head on her, and I know that for all my “playing”, I’m not doing a bad job really.

I am blessed.  I am exhausted.  I am happy.  I would kill for a glass of Merlot.  I am 100% in love with Mini-me. I’m trying my best.

I am Super Mum. 🙂cropped-smom6.jpg