Monthly Archives: September 2016

I am Stupid Bin Mum

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​Sssssssssh!

Strictly has started!
It’s officially winter.

It’s cold, dark and stormy.

The fire has been lit for the first time.

Strictly is on the tellybox.

Mammy is snug in my room, making smoochie with my favourite.  It’s a REALLY good grapejuice actually, bought on sale in The Counter last week.  Herself-of-the-wine told me to make sure to let it breath…

I gave it 3 minutes and then started mouth to mouth.

The Him is watching Braveheart or some such shite in the other room.

The Him is not allowed to interrupt Strictly.

The Him values Him’s life and would like to live another day to see Him’s Jim.
The Him MAY alos be SLIGHTLY in S-Mum’s bad booklets.

Why?

Why? you ask…
I’ll tell you why shall I?
The HIM did NOT put the BIG GIANT BIN up to the road this morning.
S-Mum even HINTED AT HIM as he crept out of bed at 5am “Did you remember to get bin labels?”… (Sleepy, sweet, cute wife voice to remind Him of my tininess and not-of-the-putting-out-of-the-big-binability.)

It OBVIOUSLY didn’t work.
I lay in bed thinking “He’ll put the bin out. I’m so clever reminding him I am.”

He went out the door thinking “I remembered to buy bin labels and she only reminded me once. I am fricken awesome I am.”
Perspective lads.😑
So at 5.45am when I noticed the HUGE FECKING WHEELIE BIN STILL at the back door, imagine my surprise!

The sunrise was pink and beautiful.

My exhaltations were colourful to say the least.
That BIN weighs AT LEAST 15 stone.

I DO NOT weigh 15 stone.😂
I dragged nearly 2 times my bodyweight UP A BLOODY HILL. (OK, Maybe not quite 2 times my bodyweight, but for dramatic purposes I exaggerate. Shup…)🤐
Big bin.

Me in my PJs.

Big hill.

LOTS of expletives.

Savage dose of self-righteousness.
Worse than a workout?

Better than a workout?

Who knows, but one was NOT impressed. 🤐
And yes, of course I’m all about equal rights and gender equality.

Just not when the bin needs to go out.

😙😙

I am So like a Unicorn Mum! 🦄🦄

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​Another typical car journey from school…
Herself: “Mammy, did you fart?” 
Indignation! 😲
Me: “No I did NOT!”

Herself: “Well it smells like fart.”

Me: “Well it wasn’t me.  Anyway, you know Mammy only farts glitter.”

Her: “Oh, are you like a unicorn?”🦄🦄🦄

Me: “A unicorn?”

Her: “Yeah a UNICORN.  You know how they fart glitter too Mammy? So you’re like a unicorn.”

Me: ” Yes.  Mammy IS like a unicorn.”🦄

 

Mammy is quite liking the idea of being compared to a FABLIS, majestic, mysterious and beautifully elusive mythical being.

 Mammy drifts off on a tangent of thought in which my first book is entitled “MOTHERHOOD: TALES OF GLITTER FARTING UNICORNS”… and on the cover, I am styled in a multicoloured unicornesque dress, clattered in glitter and looking all unicorny and wistful and magical.
Her: “So if you’re like a unicorn, does you burp rainbows too?”

(I’m enjoying this now.)

Me: “Yes, Yes I am Sweetheart.  Mammy burps rainbows!”🌈

Her: “And does dat mean you’re horny like a unicorn?”🦄

Me: “Erm…. 😲😲😲
The title of my book may have changed slightly…

 “MOTHERHOOD: TALES OF A HORNY, GLITTER-FARTING RAINBOW-BURPER.” 🦄🌈🦄
Who wants to pre-order?

😂😂😂😂

I am So Happy it’s Bedtime Mum!

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​I love my girls.
I really do.
I love them soooooooooo much.
But JEEEEEEEEESUS do I love their bedtime! 😂😂


Our visitors have left.

The house is upside down.

We’re all knackered after the last week of mayhem.

  I’m honestly still catching up with myself from the Blog Awards last Thursday night! 
We all miss the visitors alweady:

Mini-Me is NOT impressed that Uncle Brian has gone back to London and not taken her with him. (I must admit, for about 20 minutes this morning, I almost wished he had too!😂)
Princess is looking around for her fan club after spending 3 days with continous attention from them all.
The dog is suitably depressed in the back hall because they’ve gone, and I am seriously concerned that I obviously don’t give my family enough attention, when the departure of visitors causes such feckin DEVASTATION among my babbies…furbaby and all! 😂😂
But now that they’re both snoring, I’m watching Corrie and having a savage case of writer’s block. The groceries are still sitting on the counter and I REALLY need to get up off my arse and put on some dinner.
And no more visitors means that The Him will now be delighted to have my full attention back when he gets home.

  NOT…😐😐😐
He’ll probably miss them just as much as the attention hungry minions and dog because he’ll have to ACTUALLY listen to my ramblings tonight and will no longer have the peace he’s had to stare at him’s screens over the past few nights! 😂
I hope you all had a Marvellous Monday.

Enjoy their bedtime! 😂

​I am Scratching Already Mum

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Lice.
Dirty rotten little shits.😠


How many of you are scratching your head already?

Even thinking about them has me ripping the skin off my scalp.
Two days…yes… TWO DAYS after Mini-Me started school, I received a phonecall from another S-Mum to let me know she’d already found the nasty little feckers in her Minion’s hair.  

She’d already treated the whole house and was just letting me know as our two little Darlings love to hug, they do. 💖
(Scratches…)
My reactions included:
1. Serious testing of my “It’s Soooo OK, I’ve got my shit together” face.

2. Immediate scratching of my own head.

3. Instant scrutiny of Mini-Me’s head. (Thankfully, no nits!)

4. More scratching.

5. Instant gratitude to my lovely Hairdresser for making me buy Lice prevention spray and warning me to NEVER let her out the door in the morning without a spray. (Thanks Ciara.)

6. A bit more scratching.

7. Checking her head again JUST to make sure.

8. Calling my Mammy to ask if I would see them or if they’re invisible to the naked eye, in which case my friend who owns a telescope was going to be getting a visit!
I’ve NEVER experienced head lice.

I have fond memories of the metal comb on a Sunday night after bathtime each time “The letter” came home in one of the schoolbags to announce the arrival of lice to the classroom.  

Thankfully, we never actually got them so I can honestly say that the phonecall last week, 

FREAKED 

ME

 OUT.😣
I went straight to the chemist and actually BOUGHT the treatment, just to have in the house, because whatever day I spot the little pricks in her hair, I don’t want to have to go through the trauma of leaving the house to kill them. I shall be Super-exterminator-Mum and I shall DESTROY them withing 3 minutes.
In the local chemist, I quietly asked for “Calpol, teetha…Oh! And whatever you use to treat lice please.”

(Scratches.)
“How many heads are infested?” nice lady asks. (Scratches head ever so subtly.) 
“Oh noooooo!” High-pitched immediately panicked voice. 
 She can’t POSSIBLY think we have nits.  I can’t have people thinking that! 😣😣 

Dammit, I should have gone to a huge chemist where no one knows me and no one cares what you’re buying, (Like when I used to give a shit who sold me “the pill” years ago! Anyone else? 😂😂😂)
  “It’s just to have it in the house incase. They’re in the classroom apparently and I just want to have it in.”

I then heard myself rambling on about my hairdresser warning me to use the spray yadda yadda and how THANK GOD I had listened etc…you know, as if to PROVE that I wasn’t lying and to justify buying something so terribly uncouth as lice treatment.
“I used to do that too love!” Said one of the other chemist ladies.

Well thank the Lord and his Donkey for that.  💖
Because I’m OBVIOUSLY not the first Crazy Mum to buy Lice treatment BEFORE there are even lice!
And I will OF COURSE need it at some stage, and I shall be the S-Mum sending the text or making the call.
And I am grateful to the Mummy in question for giving me the heads up…boom…😂

 (It probably didn’t cost her a thought as she is a fablisly experienced and not-crazy-first-time-mummy-of-a-school-goer and knows how much of a silly NOT-big-deal lice are and she’ll probably roll her eyes when she reads this!) 😁
It’s just another first for this scratchy Mummy.

And at least now, I am READY for the little feckers.

But I still won’t say “Bring them on”, because I’m already scratched out at the THOUGHT of them!
Go on, admit it.

Comment below if you’ve scratched your head even ONCE while reading this. 👇😙👇😀
(Scratches.)
Happy sunday night Scratching! 😙😙

I am Swearing Mum 

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​S-Mum has come to realisation that we should really stop swearing.
I say “we” to include ALL of the members of my family who sometimes swear; you know?  Me, The Him… Mini-Me…
In the past few weeks, little Miss Moral Knickers has upped her game of correctional disapproval.  If anyone drops a swear word, her reaction is to announce “BAD WOD!” with an urgency and fervour to match only a Mamma who ALMOST spills her wine.  Her speed and accuracy are AMAZING!
Mini-Me’s aunty stubbed her toe yesterday and, of course, reacted with a FABLIS rendition of JEEEEEEESUS CHRIIIIIIST!

BEFORE she had even pronounced the T at the end of Christ, we heard “BAD WOD!” resounding  through the air…from ANOTHER ROOM!

Even watching Peppa Feckin Pig, by which she is, (like most kids), for some reason ENGROSSED to the point that I doubt she’d notice if SANTA🎅 HIMSELF walked in!, Her High-moral-horse-ness picked up on the expletive in the other room and had it suitably disciplined within nanoseconds.
Impressive. 😑😑


The funniness of her reaction however, is LESS FUNNY when she starts correcting non-family members. 😥😥😥
 Our Gardener was here earlier and got admonished for his accidental use of “Shit”.  He tripped over the dog-horse.🐶

 It was a perfectly appropriate use of emergency expletive, but not for Mini-Me.

“BAD WOD!”

(Thankfully, he too has bossy minions of his own…) 😂
On Saturday, The Him announced “I keep forgetting to put that bloody box in the attic.”
“BAD WOD!”

“I did NOT say a Bad Word!?”

“Yes, you did Daddy.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“I heard you.  You said Bloody Box. Dat wight Mum?”

“I did NOT!”
Me and Bloke stifling spontaneous combustion…”You did Honey. She’s right I’m afraid.”
He genuinely didn’t even realise he’d said it and proceeded to apologise. “Ah Ok! Silly Daddy didn’t mean to say that.  You were right.”
Cue smug little fartsickle shrugging her shoulders and saying “See! Told ya!” before flouncing to her room.
The Bloke starts to laugh.

We have the “very seriously good parenting We really need to stop swearing, before she starts repeating us!” conversation…
The Bloke buckles.

“BEFORE she starts? She told me yesterday I was a Duckhead.”
Oh.

Sweet.

Gemima. 😣😣😣
And that’s not the worst one.

I had jumped out and frightened her that morning and had a good old giggle to myself as she ran screaming down the hall.  Apparently what I didn’t hear because of my guffawing was her telling her teddy “She’s a BITCH!” 😁😁
So there you go.

  My Mother-Theresa-esque-Morally-superior Mini-Me is actually an absolute potty mouth.
I am officially terrified that she will decide to use her colourful language at school and her lovely young and polite Teacher will think she comes from a family of Potty mouths… She does of course, but it’d be nice to keep that hidden for a while.
Terrible isn’t it? I’ll await the referral Social Services and the disapproving eyebrows from the perfect parents who never let their kids HEAR them swear, 😉 and I promise to try to be a better example to her.
But as a positive, she has been using them in the correct context, so as a language teacher I must commend that. 🙄🙄


I’m often reminded by my parents of MY first day of school, where I seemingly came home from school and called my baby brother a “Wee Bastard.”

  My lovely ladylike Mum has never recovered from the shock, but sure look it…I turned out alright didn’t I? ( Tumbleweed rolls across page…)😅
Goodnight Bitcheepooooos. 
“BAD WOD!” 😂