I am Say Hello to 2017 Mum

​2016 was as well behaved as a threenager and as predictable as toddler’s tantrum, but BOY was it feckin FABLIS!
This time last year, I had NO IDEA that the blog would become a daily one, or that so many people would interact.  I never dreamed that it would be so well received or that it’d EVER end up nominated for a national award.  I never imagined the friendships it would bring me… 💖💖💖
Secrets of S-Mum gives me enjoyment and keeps me sane … well, just a little sane.  It’s offered me some savage opportunities this year and as I enter 2017, I’m excited and determined to keep writing. I LOVE that even the shittiest days can make another S-Mum smile. We’re all as batshit-crazy-biscuits as each other! And we Supermums really DO have the power.

  We’re amazing.

 We’re Fablis.  

We’re glitter-farting unicorns. 🦄🦄🦄

I have big plans for my wee blog and as we start a new chapter, I want to thank those Supermums who follow me and comment and share and like and message me.  Your support and reaction not only makes me happy, it makes me want to keep writing.  
So thank you, from the bottom of my glass, for the love and laughs.

And bring on 2017 Bitcheepooooos.
Let’s see where this poonami wave brings us, will we?
But for now, my Minions are asleep after watching last year’s London countdown (she wanted to see where Uncle Binam lives!😅😅), the PJs are on and The Him and I are supping on bubbles.

Have a lovely evening, whatever you’re at Ladybelles.
See you on the other side.
Much love,💋💋💋
The S-Mum and The Him


I am Sending her on her way Mum

​Mammy guilt.

I’ve decided that that Sanctimonious Bitch can waddle on her way.
Mammy Guilt
That horrible guilt that Mammies feel. It hits us in two ways:

1. Sometimes it creeps up slowly, beginning as a niggle, but then grows into a giant “butterfly in your tummy”.  (Actually, no.  It’s not a butterfly. It’s more comparable to a drunk, out of control, giant Pigeon that crashes against your insides asnit tries to escape your tummy.)

2. Sometimes it hits you like an articulated lorry, out of the blue.
Either way, it hits. 
 Sometimes over seemingly insignificant things, you know? Like, “They’re having pizza and waffles for tea again.” or “I haven’t bathed him in a week” or “Jam sandwiches for the second day because I forgot to go to the shop.”  We know we’re not following the “Perfect Mammy rule book” and we can guess how our Sanctimammy friend would react if she saw our crimes.

 Bring on the Mammy guilt.
Other times, it’s over bigger things or events. You know that wedding you’re going to? Where you’re going to stay overnight? That you’re reeeeeeally looking forward to? But as it draws nearer, you seriously consider making excuses to the Bride because you just don’t know how you’re going to leave your Minion for 24 hours. Or that nightbout with the girls? Or leaving them in Childcare while you go to work…or not being able to invite the whole class to his party because the money just isn’t there…or telling her “5 minutes Mammy’s working”…
  Oh bring on the Mammy guilt. 
It’s endless. It’s indiscriminate. It pops up in the weirdest places and it can be suffocating. Because it makes us feel wrong, uncertain…useless even.
 How often have you wished the baby monitor to quieten down, only to feel an urge to go in and snuggle her after 20 minutes? How often have you looked at the clock at 5pm and willed it to be bedtime, and then felt like crap because she crawls up for a snuggle? How often have you been given the chance of an extra hour in bed, only to feel like your gut is going to self-combust when you hear your baby crying? You know that she’s safe with Daddy or Granny or whoever is with her, but your Mammy guilt forces you to drag you ass downstairs to check.
That’s the Mammy guilt.

This morning, the Him let me lie in. After a while, I heard the bath running.  He was bathing the girls… my first reaction was “I’d better get up.”  I sat up. My head was automatically filled with thoughts like “Where are her clothes?” “How will he manage both?” “Does he have everything set up?” ” I’d better get up.”  I felt GUILTY that I was snuggled up in bed while Daddy was bathing the girls. 
And then I copped myself the feck on and lay back down!  

Because you see, that’s where we Mammies are going wrong.  We’re allowing the Mammy guilt to be a bad thing. We’re allowing it to make us feel like we must be doing something wrong if we’re feeling guilty.

But we’re not doing anything wrong. It took all of my strength to not interfere… to let him decide what they would wear…to batter the guilt down and stop worrying about something so silly!
If anything, the fact that we’re worrying about being a good Mammy, means that we ARE good Mammies.   Is that “guilt” not simply what keeps us on the right track?
My New Year’s resolution for 2017 is simple.
  I’m taking the Mammy Guilt and I am kicking it out the door.  Instead, I’m going to call it my MammyCheck.

  Because that feeling is not guilt.
 It is panic. It is fear.  It is worry. It’s our mind’s way of making us Check and Double check our decisions.

 If we’re feeling it, we’re being good Mammies already.  
It will a lot of effort and it will take a lot of time, but if we decide to take our Mammy Guilt and turn it into a positive thing, it’s worth a try right?
So if you’re in the throes of making your New Year’s resolutions for tomorrow, add one in.

Refuse to feel the Mammy guilt. Take it as a sign that you’re already fablis. 

Xxxx 😚😚😚😚😚

I am Stupid Christmas Cards Mum

​Oh it’s time for Grapes…
Tonight, S-Mum did something really stupid…

Like, REEEEEEALLY fecking stupid!
“Would you like to write your Christmas Cards Mini-Me Dearest?”
I bought the cute little packet of cards weeks ago, thinking it would be so cute to let her write the cute little cards and give them to her cute little frineds.  And the first few cards were indeed cute.
After No. 4, she got bored.
By No.6, her writing had gone from “impressive” to “WTF?” 
By No.9., she’d decided she no longer needed the word “from”.
No.10 required 3 attempts because she feel out with the letter K and defaced each card in utter frustration.
Trying to write her teacher’s full name caused utter MELTDOWN at No.11 as it wouldn’t fit on the card width and so she now has the last 3 letters vertically down the side… (My eyes are bleeding… but there was more chance of Santa leaving Mammy a Chanel Handbag than there was starting THAT again!)
We eventually made it to No. 20something and she is now away to bed, only DELIGHTED with herself. 😅The cards are packed in her bag, ready for her to forget to give out tomorrow…
Mammy learned a few things also.😈

These are:
1. I don’t know how to spell some names.

2. Some Mums may be offended at how I think their Minion’s name is actually written.

3. I know we have forgotten at least 6 names, given that there are not the same number of cards as kids in her class, but I am not psychic, nor do I remember names anyway, so I don’t really know how to get around that one.

4. The handwriting genius that I smugly THOUGHT I had here, is NOT ACTUALLY a Handwriting Genius.  In fact, as I opened some of the cards from her classmates this past week, my inner Soccer Mom was beginning to bubble and boil in a fucked up combination of jealousy and annoyance… “Why is her writing so neat? This one looks like one of my 5th years wrote it? Wtf is wrong with my Mini-Me?” Her lovely, and I thought accomplished, scrawl that I’ve proudly shown to Grannies and Aunties and anyone else who stands in front of me, in some cases looks like the signature of a shitfaced orangutan beside the BEAUTIFUL script of Miss Annabelle* or Master Simon*…(obviously I’m changing the names here!😂)

5. I need to work on her handwriting.

6. I should really get a list of the class names from somewhere.

7. Some children have better handwriting than my daughter.

8. But I bet their Mums spent 3 weeks drafting and redrafting their cards with them.

9. Or maybe, the mums actually WROTE the cards, just making them look a bit messy ajd childlike to pass them off as the handwriting of their minion to make other Mums like me freak the fuck out.

10. It’s time for wine. 🍷🍷

How was your Chooseday?

Did you choose red or white? 😚😚😚

I am Some rules I’d make Mum 😅

​If I were Queen of the whole world (as opposed ro my own little corner), there are a few things I would change about Christmas…
1. Christmas on a weekend is a bit shit.  Why? Because for so many, it will come and go just like an ordinary bank holiday weekend.  Christmas needs to be on a Wednesday or some other such midweekday so that both the before and after working weeks are ridiculously short allowing everyone to get excited and bouncy and Christmassy from the Sunday before because it’s only a 2 day week and then it’s holiday time!

Because it’s a Sunday, we’re all trudging along this week asking “Are we there yet?” Most people will finish work on Friday evening and suddenly fricken Christmas Eve will be upon us faster than a baby’s poonami hits a clean nappy.
2. Only good drivers should be allowed on the road from the 21st until the 24th.  Because Christmas Eve this year is suddenly “Saturdayed”, the last minute panic (and for some, ALL their shopping) will have to be done on Saturday.  This would not be a huge problem if everyone knew how to DRIVE.  The town will inevitably stand still with non-moving cars and the special Dumbasses who the Grinch or some other Gremlin sends down from Dumbass Land, and who ONLY come out to drive on Christmas Eve and who test the patience of EVERYONE else by not using INDICATORS or knowing what a fucking YELLOW BOX is.  They are not even real people.  I think they’re like Matrix people who we can all SEE blocking the roundabout or taking 2 hours to reverse their corsa into two spaces, but they’re not ACTUALLY real… they can’t be.  That level of Dumbass doesn’t exist does it?

3. The shops should all close at 3pm on Christmas Eve.  Why? So that the creturs working in them get to GO HOME to their families of course! Be nice to retailers Ladybelles.  You might be stressed, but they’re still working. When I am queen, the whole world shall shut down early and Christmas shall be forced to begin at a decent hour.
4. Anyone who parks in a disabled spot or a parent spot without good reason or genuine need, should be zapped by a glitterfying lazer and beamed to a 1980s Tellybox set like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, where they shall have to stay until Boxing Day.  Better still, their CAR shoould be zapped away from them as they lock it so they can see just how fucking difficult it is to suddenly have an unnecessarily long distance to navigate a wheelchair or crutches or 3 screaming kids and 10 bags, just because they think they’re more special than the rest of the world.  Pricks. (Note…this applies all year round. 🤐)
5. Children and Hims should not be allowed to get sick before or during Christmas.  It’s hugely unfair on the Mamma Bears who are already trying to fit ALL THE EVERYTHING into their lunchbreaks and do the full grocery shopping in 8 minutes flat enroute to the school gate.  It is highly inconvenient and terribly upsetting when your minions suddenly feel poop at this time.  Of course it could always be worse… especially if your Him decides to do his annual Nutcracker rendition and act out the part of the useless and slightly tragic wooden soldier who needs something fucking magical to instill life and joy into his bones again.  Of course I’m not referring to my own Him here.  😇He is a Braveheartesque soldier at all times😲😲 and never succumbs to manflu or calls for his Mammy when his Her tells him to “man the fuck up.”
6. Cars will have a secret “other” boot.  This will stop the drama of “How the feck will I get the stuff that isn’t really there and can never be seen by little eyes into the house before they decide to open the boot to throw their schoolbags in?” Such a debachle!
7. All Mammies will be allowed to drink tea or grapes or gin as early as they like from the 20th.  Sorry…the 19th 😂😂 until at LEAST January 3rd.  This shall be law.

Oh and everyone shall smile always, and wear big hats (which will ALL be made XL to fit humongously craniumed wenches like S-Mum) and we shall all be lovely to each other and sparkle like glittery unicorns because tis the fricken season and all that.
How was your day?

Are we there yet? 🎄🎅🦄🎄🍷🎅🎄🦄🍷🎅🎄❄⛄🎄🎅🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

​I am Survival List Mum

“Surviving Christmas,” “Christmas Survival Tips for the Working Mum”, “How to Survive Christmas”…

I googled this last night.

Some of the “advice” online is nothing short of HILARIOUS.  I fear most of it may have been written by one of the following:

🎄Mary of the Poppins herself

🎄Someone without kids

🎄A Man… 😂😂😂
Here are some of the best pieces I gleaned, followed by my honest and polite response: Buckle up Bitcheepoos…😙😉
1.  “Be Prepared.”

No shit Sherlock.  As opposed to waking on Christmas Eve and remembering to buy a turkey and gifts? Seriously…
2. “Buy gifts throughout the year and wrap them as you go.”

Now this one I can partially agree with, except S-Mum’s would read “Buy gifts throughout the year, put them somewhere safe and then forget all about them until the week before Christmas, when you have all the gifts bought and then open a box or bag or suitcase and find all the PawPatrol jigsaws you bought in July.  Or even better, find them when you’re putting the decorations away in January!”
3. “Choose a theme for your gifts to add that personal magic”.

Here’s a theme.  Shut the fuck up.  Most of us just about manage to buy for everyone we have to buy for.  And if you’re anything like me, you’ll remember someone on Christmas Day and freak out with guilt and embarrassment and mumble some crap about it not being delivered on time before popping to the loo to order on Amazon with next day delivery. (But if you doooooo want to add a personal touch and be remembered fondly by your loved ones, put glitter🦄 into all of the cards and gifts so that their floors get clattered and you are applauded for spreading the magic of Christmas. Go ahead, I dare you! 😂😂)
4. “Place delicate or expensive ornaments on higher branches.”

Ok this one, I can empathise with.  Especially if you have toddlers or dogs. 🐶But in reality, put delicate or expensive decorations in the ATTIC and leave them there until 2023.
5. “Ice the Christmas Cake 2 weeks before Christmas”

Or in real life, remember on the 23rd that for some reason you need a Christmas cake and either pop to M&Spensive or decide not to bother with cake this year. Either way, it doesn’t really matter does it?
6. “Decorating the home should be a family occasion followed by a family meal.”

Oh really? Should it really? If by “family meal” you mean a bottle of wine after the kids have all gone to bed, then yes…yes this is true. 😅 Decorating the home is, for most, a painful and highly stressful process which generally takes more than one afternoon and involves tears, mess and even declarations of divorcing children and husbands.  If you can get the actua tree up in one go, save yourself the stress and put everything else up by yourself, on your own, without the rest of the family annoying your head.  After bedtime is ideal.😘😉
7. “Keep alcohol locked away.”

Out of the reach of children yes, but keep the key in your frilly fecking apron.
8. “Stock up on essentials:  batteries, bread, milk and cream.”

Why there is no gin or wine on this list, is beyond me.
9. “Go Christmas Shopping without children. Bring a drink and a snack with you.”

Who the hell wrote this?  If you can get someone to mind the minions for an hour, OF COURSE, go Christmas shopping without them. Have a gin and eat chocolate.
10. “Create a cleaning schedule for your home to keep on top of things this Christmas”.

There aren’t enough swear words for this one. A Cleaning Schedule? Who the hell has time to write a cleaning schedule? In the time it would take me to write a cleaning schedule, I would probably have half the cleaning done.  If you can keep floors lego free and counters salmonella free, you’re doing great! You deserve a treat. 💚
There were a few little nuggets in fairness.  Some of the better advice included “Scale down your expectations”, “Invent your own traditions”, and “Give yourself a break.”

Another gem that I completely agree with is “Buy disposable baking trays”: I stock up on aluminium turkey trays every year and everything is cooked in them.  It’s a life saver!

The lists and articles largely did what they always do however; put undue pressure on already busy parents to stress themselves to create a picture perfect Christmas card-esque scene that in reality, is nonsense.

Do what YOU want to do.  Buy what YOU can afford.  Cook what YOU like to eat. If you don’t like mince pies, don’t fricken buy them. If you want to let your kids open all of the presents on Christmas morning, do it!  If you like to wrap all the everything, do so.  If you don’t, DON’T!

It’s that simple.  We don’t need a survival list to survive Christmas, we need to give ourselves a break and enjoy it, because if you take a second to stop and look around you, often in the midst of lost presents and superfluous food shopping, you can see a little bit of magic without having to buy it.
What is your favourite “Survival tip” and why?

I am Some things I never knew Mum

​Things that no one tells a soon to be Mamma.

Please be aware that this is a NHB  (No holding back) post which may contain TMI for some readers! 😂😂

If you read this and wish you hadn’t, too bad really… But you can’t say you weren’t warned!

The Early Days

1. The first visitors to the hospital will be a blur. I was so out of it on adrenaline and whatever horse tranquilisers they’d given me that my first visitors still talk about how “great” I was… And yet I don’t remember a thing about the first day!

If you have other kids, manipulating the visitors so that your kids and then Grandparents are first in, is a military operation!   Hopefully it will only be your nearest and dearest who come along initially.

Most people are good at knowing that it’s best to wait until Mamma is settled at home before they visit.  There are no rules of course, but in my little rule book, only go to the hospital if it’s one of your closest friends or a close family member.

2. The interruptions:  You’ll just have drifted off to snooze after finally getting your little one to nod off and the door of the ward shall swing open and in comes “The Beeper”.

The Beeper is the little Blood Pressure monitor and fancy trolley the lovely nurses push from ward to ward to make sure you and baby are doing OK.  It looks like Johnny 5 and has a habit of appearing at the most inconvenient times.

Don’t get me wrong.  The nurses have a schedule and have to do their rounds and it’s all in your best interest, but you will learn to loath the Beeper.  But it’s only for a few days and it makes going home to your own bed all the sweeter.

3. Your first toilet trip:  With Mini-Me, I read all the books.  ALL of them! My Darling mother happily answered my questions with brutal honesty.  When I found out I’d be having her by section, my amazing friend told me all about hers in her colourful language.

Having grown up on a farm and having helped out, hands on I might add, with MANY C-Sections on Cows, I felt quite prepared.  I put my faith, my trust and my vulnerable self in the care of the surgeons and all was right with the world.

But NO ONE prepared me for the first toilet trip…when you go for your first pee, apparently it’s normal to feel like you’re being sliced open again without anaesthetic this time!  I swear to God, I thought I was going to die right there on the loo.  It was not pretty.  The pain almost made me puke.

And as if that wasn’t terrifying enough, the first poo is fecking horrendous!  I have it on good authority that it is the same for Mummies who deliver vaginally.  Again, I thought my entire insides were falling out.

I roared so loudly that The Him actually called for a nurse and she had to come in to convince me that no, I hadn’t just passed my bowel and no,  I wasn’t going to die.  But don’t tell anyone.  How undignified and ridiculous right?

4. The Boobs:  Now, for me, this was a big deal.  And I mean Big in every sense of the word.  As a woman of the Fried egg club, to wake up on day three with two bald heads in my bra, was quite the trauma.  I swear to God I looked like Jordan.  I’ve always wondered if I’d like to have boobs… No.  No I wouldn’t .  Thank you.  No. Give me my fried eggs any day.

5. The journey home:  My memory of this one still makes me laugh.  The walk from the ward to the car with your lovely car seat is one of the most surreal experiences of your life.  I hadn’t stepped more than 6 foot to the bathroom in 4 days.

Suddenly I had to waddle my way down corridors, into lifts (oooooh that bump takes on a whole new level of weirdness after a section!), through a lobby (carrying balloons to boot!) and out into the car. It was like running 20feet and then thinking you’re ready for a marathon the next day.

Daddy is grinning like a Cheshire cat while you shall be torn between scolding him for swinging the seat too much when he walks, and holding your ladybits in because they feel like they are about to fall the hell out of you with every step!

Getting into the car is a challenge and then there’s the drive home.  I dare say The Him didn’t go above 40mph the whole way out to the house, because of the precious cargo and of course because of my delicate state.  We both give out about Dooters on the road, but Oh my did he dooter out the road that day!

6. The tears:  Oh tears.  You unpredictable little feckers… They come in waves.  You have NO control over them.  They’ll arrive at the worst times.  And you’ll possibly laugh at the same time because you will have no idea why the hell you’re crying!  But let them flow.  It’s completely normal! I’m still crying over anything and my Baby is 1!

7. The Visitors: While you’ll want nothing more than to see people and introduce your new bundle to your loved ones, bear in mind that your first day or two at home will be exhausting, emotional and terrifying.  If I had been able to pay the midwives to come home with me, I would have.  I remember getting to the house with The Him and the Car seat and being soooooo frightened.  There was no buzzer.  There were no nurses down the hall.  It was just us.  But we were fine.

8. Newborns are actually much more interesting than you ever thought they were.  But here’s the key.  YOUR newborn is interesting. To YOU and your partner .  Don’t be offended if your visitors only start at the baby for a few minutes.  Yes of course they’re interested and of course they’ll think your baby is gorgeous, but while you can watch this little person doing NOTHING for hours on end, to others, it is exactly that…a little person doing nothing!

They don’t see the miraculous progression from yesterday, or that the baby is holding your focus for a few moments longer… or that her grip seems more purposeful.  So don’t get offended that your friends seem to politely stare at the baby for only a few minutes, declaring his cuteness or that she has your eyes, before moving promptly on to some other topic of conversation.  It’s normal.

And be honest, you’ve probably done it yourself many times. Because other people’s babies are not that interesting are they?

9. Lasagne can make you cry:  The gifts and parcels and flowers will come and be hugely appreciated. But the most welcomed and remembered offering to the home of the newborn…is food!  And the best kind of food is something that can be portioned, reheated, frozen or even eaten cold from the casserole dish.  Think curry. Think chilli. Think lasagne.  You never realised how good lasagne tastes.  It’ll make you so happy that may cry tears of joy.

10. You suddenly won’t care who washes your knickers:  Maybe this was just me.  Before I had Mini-Me, the thought of someone else doing my washing would have driven me mad with shame.  Not because there’s anything wrong with my smalls, No!  But I could never have even entertained the thought of my Mum or Mother-in-Law washing them.  And then I got over that VERY quickly. Because the first time I realised that the washing machine was going without me having started it, my initial panic was so overwhelmed by total gratitude that I even surprised myself.  Now, I still don’t like the idea of someone washing my knickers, but for the first few weeks after birth, you really shouldn’t give a damn.

So now you’re home. And you could probably add 10 more things to this list.  Add away Supermums.