I am Sentence Smell Mum

We’re all about the senses here at S-Mumble Hill today.  
Princess’s favourite sense is TASTE.  She’s quite like me really.  She loves to eat…  Her CONSTANT eating is becoming a problem however. 

Why? 

Because it’s becoming difficult to get her backside out of the cupboard or off the kitchen chair long enough to GO ANYWHERE or DO ANYTHING!  I used to worry about leaving the house without nappies in the bag.  Now, I break out in a cold sweat if I realise that I forgot to put a banana or fruit in it.

Her most used word each day is “Muh, muh, muuuuuUUUUUHHH!” (More, more, mooooooore!)

Mammy went for Sense of TOUCH.  I decided to listen to my hairdresser and buy some Argan Oil for my dry hair. As I rubbed the 3-4 drops through my wet hair, my sense of touch informed me that it wasn’t quite enough, and so I slabbered a big dollop of the oil between my palms and rubbed it through my hair.  Then, I dried it…or tried to.  Because, no matter how much I blasted the hair with the dryer, it remained heavy and moist and shiny. 

 I bunged on my baseball cap as I didn’t have time to wash it and headed on into town, like an uberskank, and of course met EVERYONE I know in the space of 30 minutes.  If I squeezed my hair there’d be enough oil to make chips… which would be quite handy if Fudgeybum gets hungry again.

And then, on our way home, Mini-Me announces “Mammy someone’s spreading Slurry!” 

Indeed there was slurry.

“Slurry is the Irish for Poo you know Mammy?”  (Eh…no, it’s not actually.)

“I KNOW that it’s Slurry, because I have a good SENTENCE SMELL,  you know?”

“Of course you do Darling…”

And Mammy used her other sense, her COMMON sense, and changed the conversation…

I am Some Real Mums on the Tellybox Please Mum

Real Mammies lose it sometimes.
Real Mammies do NOT behave like the Mammies on the TellyBox…
Fact. 😶
Real Mammies, while we do indeed have our Mary of the Poppins moments, do not spend our days answering our minions in edumacated and enthusiastic, sing songy voices.  😅
So why do the TV shows aimed at our minions portray only Mammies who would give the authors of the Positive Parenting books the same satisfaction that one gets from polishing off a box of maltesers all by oneself?
Sickeningly sweet, always smiling, perky and positive and always saying the right thing, these Mammies dress head to toe in Marks of the Spensive, have Stepford Mammyesque hair doooos, and would put the most prim and perky primary school teacher to shame, with their well laid out everything and their general competency in all things Mammy.
But riddle me this Ladybelles?
If these shows, (which MUST be applauded for their educational and developmental content and tones), can  portray the world of a wobbler or a toddler or a minion so well, WHY do they lie to them about what parents should be?
“It’s OK (insert character name here). It’s normal to feel sad/confused/excited.”  the furry, talking animals tell their owners on our screens, before talking them through their emotions and making the world a wonderful place again.
But WHERE is the Mammy, or Daddy, who is tired? Where is the Mammy who explains firmly that NO, you can’t hit your sister or NO, It’s NOT OK to throw toys?  Where is the teenage sister who is throwing “shade” at the Mum?  Where is the Mum wiping yesterday’s yoghurt off the school uniform with a Babywipe as the child goes out the door? Where is the 4 year old crying that they can’t find the shoes that are RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM? 😡😡
Just once, I would LOVE to see Topsy and Tim’s Mum lose her shit. I’d love to see her looking like crap, with bags under her eyes and toast stuck to her arse.  Just once, I would love to see one of the delightful, BFF twins throwing a complete strop because their beautiful Mammy puts beans too close to the fishfingers.
The Kiddy Channels should do a post watershed episode of Bing where “What would Flopsy do?” is answered by Flopsy “Flopsy will drink 3 glasses of wine when you go to bed Bing…you little prick,” and where we get to SEE Topsy and TIm’s Dad eating the remains of their uneaten dinners before he scrapes them in the bin, while Mammy cries at the table because she’s failing at EVERYTHING and huffing that “NO ONE EVER LISTENS TO MEEEEEEEE!” 😥😥
THEN, I MIGHT take them seriously, because at least I would possibly get some understanding about MY emotions and MY struggles and I might feel a bit more NORMAL!

 

Now, where is the remote?  I really should turn the channel over from the “Has gone to bed. We’ll be back in the morning screen!” 😂😂

How was your day?

I am Snaps from the past Mum

I am Stoopid Jar Mum

Is there anything more frustrating than jars?

You know jars?

With Screw top lids?
“Oh, S-Mum, you are being ridonkulous and melodramaria now.  HOW can you be frustrated by a jam jar, you silly woman?” I hear you scoff.
And usually, I would agree, but tonight, if YOU had witnessed the EPIC meltdown offered by my Princess because S-Mum here couldn’t get a FECKING JAR OPEN, you would not be scoffing.  You would be popping to the shop to buy me grapes.

Yes.

On a Monday.😥

“You want toast Princess of mine?”

“Mmmmhmmmm” she nods.

“Mammy get you toast now.”

“Mmmmmhmmmmmm” she says, wobbling her bum to the fridge, where she stands grunting at it and at me until I open it.

“Will we get out the butter, my cherished cherub?”

“Mmmmmhmmmmmmm” she nods, reacing for the jar of jam from the fridge door.

“You want jam on your toast?”

“BAAAAAAAAM!” she squeals, dancing her happy nappy dance…

“Mammy get you jam surely pet.”
Except she won’t.

NO,

Because this Jam jar has not yet been opened and it seems that its lid has been welded to the jar by trolls, using their extra special concrete mix, which is completely unmoving regardless of how much you twist, or turn, or grunt or swear.
Mammy was certain of ONE thing after a few minutes.
Mammy was NOT getting the lid of the blasted jar. 😭😭
Nope.
Now, let it be known, that I am a stubborn sort of Ladybelle.  I am not beyond smashing a jar (or bottle) with a hammer to get at the contents, but considering that Princess was SCREAMING “BAAAAAAAAAAAM” at me, whilst swinging off my legs, and considering that smashing things would NOT be best parenting practise, I opted to control my temper and distract her.

I was unsuccessful.

She screamed for approximately 13 minutes, before instantly calming herself down when she heard the opening notes of In the Shite Garden and toddling over to chat to Macka Feckin Packa, leaving Mammy a sweaty, traumatised mess in the kitchen.
Did I threaten to hurt the Jam Jar?  Did I promise to smash the fecker off the back step after she’d gone to bed?

Of course not.  That would be mental…
It is sitting on the counter awaiting The Him and his Manliful Muscles to come home.  He’ll pick it up, twist it like a milk bottle and tut at me for being such a girl.

OR.

He too shall struggle with the fecking thing and I will regain a molecule of my sanity, laughing at him.

Fecking BAAAAM…

How was your day?

I am Saddle and Sore Bum Mum 😅

Mammy’s bottom is sore.
Today, I sat upon the hard saddle of a bicycle.  The only hard saddle that Mammy is used to sitting on, is Jim’s …  you know the stationary, non-moving, non-dangerous, spinning bicycle that is BOLTED TO THE GROUND and which can NOT MOVE?

“Let’s hire the bikes!” suggested The Him when we arrived in Glenveagh.
“Oh fecking joy” thinks Mammy, but NEVER one to let The Him think her unfit or uncool or old and decrepit, and seeing the ACTUAL joy on Mini-Me’s face at the prospect of saving her little legs from the 4k walk, Mammy answered “What a glorious idea My Him. But as YOU are the manliest man in Manville, YOU have my permission to be manly and to strut your masculine Mannity by pulling the trailer containing your two cherubs.”

S-Mum’s FIRST hurdle was THE HELMET. You see my Lovelies, I do indeed have a superbly large and quite weirdly shaped cranium.  I like to think it’s all the brains, but in reality, it is a combination of genetic and bad luck.  (The last time I required a helmet was on a teambuilding horseriding day with my colleagues, when the Gobshite/man shouted to HIS colleague “Gone out the back and bring in the special hat”, before fitting me with a glorified bucket and sending me off on the spawn of Satan…a horse named Mary… shudder.)
But to my amazement, the helmet DOES FIT and so I am good to go.
S-Mum does not delight in the prospect of cycling a real live bicycle for the first time in AT LEAST 20 years, but then S-Mum sees that The Him’s bum looks quite wonderful on his manly bike and so decides to forgoe her trepidation and take one for the team.
“You go in front Darling” says The Him.
“Oh no My Him. I’d much prefer to follow you so I can see my precious minions. Be the man. I shall be a good wifey and follow you” answers I, patting myself on the back for being so cunning and clever. 😈

So off we went.  I sat on the saddle, nodded at the instructions the buck was giving me about gears or something, and wondered HOW the hell I would get out of the CARPARK, nevermind the whole way down to the castle, and back.
But do you know what?

Remember I did.

It really was “like riding a bike.” 😂😂😂
Yes, I was a bit wobbly, and yes I almost died 13 times before I got the hang of the brakes etc, but having spent my whole childhood on bikes with my sister and brother, it came back to me quickly.
I did however discover something interesting.
I have huge difficulty turning right!

Left? No bother.

Right?  Not so much. I felt like I was going to tip over.
Why? I have NO FECKING IDEA! Maybe it’s a sign that the left side of my brain has gone to mussh more than the right?
Anyway, we went, we saw, we cycled.
It was great fun.

The girls loved it, “woohoooooing” their way behind their Daddy.
After my initial wobbles, and as a result of my utter stubbornness, I actually enjoyed it…

And in fairness, the view was pretty impressive too. 😈😈😉😉
How was your Sunday Funday?

Have you found me on Bookface yet?

https://www.facebook.com/the.s.mum

I am Seaside Mum

Well Feck-it-up FriYay was indeed splendiferous.
TODAY S-Mum was a very clever Mammy.

I collected the minions, and joyfully announced “Shall we go to the seaside my precious Darlings?”
“Yay!” Screamed Mini-Me.

“Woohoooooo!” Echoed Princess out the side of her dodee, not really knowing what was happening, but delighted to join in nonetheless.

Clever Mammy had sneaked home at lunchtime, packed towels, snacks and spare clothes for them and langered on some suncream on myself. (Well, most of myself.  The big patch I missed on my back is currently screaming “STUPID WOMAN!” at me. 😥)
Off we went to the seaside.
Yay! #Mammywin.
You see, unlike my sofa and floors, the seaside LIKES splashes of suncream.

And you see, when Princess decides to run, there’s really nowhere she can go, especially when the tide is so far out that the beach looks like a sad, empty wineglass.

And so you see, Mammy got to sit on her Stepford Mammy bum and to watch on lovingly as she waddled around after her big sister, gathering srones and eating sand.
It.

Was.

Joyful.
And then I realised No.1 of my Feck-it-ups…
We went splishing and splashing in the sea. In my sneaky quick change before I collected the girls, I’d shaved my legs quickly as although dogs are permitted on the beach, I’m sure people might frown at a wooly mammoth turning up to shed all over the lovely seaside. And I remembered, just as I entered the lovely salty water that salty water and newly shaved legs ARE NOT A GOOD COMBINATION. 😅😅
HOLY SWEET JESUS AND THE WEE DONKEY…
Anyway, I convinced myself that SOMEWHERE in the world, I’d pay a fortune to walk my raw legs into a salty ocean…
And so, I let them run into the sea fully clothed, smug in the knowledge that I was superorganised with spare clothes and towels for them.
Mini-Me almost selfcombusted with excitement when I told her she could “Splash away Sweetie.”  And Princess went at that water like baby Moana at the start of the movie. It was fun.
And then Princess fell flat on her fudgy little arse and ended up flat on her back in the water.  Oh how funny! Oh how she screamed! Oh how Mini-Me laughed…and laughed…and laughed.  She enjoyed it quite a little too much actually. 😈😂😈😂
As I lifted her up out of the water and started the 3 mile trek back to our blankets, I was chuffed with my Mammyself for being so relaxed and spontaneous. 😂
And then, as Princess’s soaking clothes permeated through mine, I realised my Feck-it-up for today…
I had clothes for the two drenched wee dollies, but none for myself.
What a Twat.
I had to dry and change them, absolutely SOAKED and then drive home with soppy shorts and a wet teeshirt clinging to my fried eggs…  Turns out, wee light shorts from Penneysbest are ACTUALLY quite heavy when wet. 👇👇👇
Glammy Mammy my arse.
But hey, the girls had an absolute blast, I enjoyed it all up until the drive home and they’re both out cold after their bath now. 💜💜

And if my only Feck-it-up, Fecked-it-up for only me, well sure, that’s fine. 😍😍😍
Anyone know a good truckhire company to return the 3 tonne of sand we magically transported from the beach? 😂😂
How was YOUR Friday dahlings?

Any Feck-it-ups to share with me?

I am Sunshine and Suncream Mum

Oh it is sunshiny and fablis. 😎😎
Oh how wonderful.😎
Let us drive home with Stepford Mammy notions of pottering in the garden, topping up our Vitamin D, naming flowers and passing on our memories of nature walks and such. Let us have a light, sunnyful,  salady dinner and let the children run free while we watch and adore them from the poofy lounger. And then, let them be so exhausted from their frolicking and pottering, that they snuggle down for a long sleep, full of the joys of summer and sunkissed and freckled, smelling of the great outdoors…
Good Mammy.
Now let us be realistic. 😅
Yes, we may drive home full of these notions, but notions they are, and only notions.
In reality, let’s collect the minions, tired and cranky from the heat at play/school, let us put them in a car of approximately 31° even with the windows down, for them to get MORE cranky and sweaty on the way home. Let us have a complete fecking meltdown when you offer icecream but end up with ice-POPS because the cone machine has had fecking heart attack at its sudden overuse. Let us try to get the homework done, because Clever Mammy knows that whatever chance we have of getting it done NOW, there is precisely feck all chance of it being done once the pottering commences.
Let us wrestle more suncream onto the two wrigglers, before having a quiet and peaceful 😂😂standoff with the Mini-Me about putting ON her hat,  while the Princess insists on removing HER hat to EAT IT at 3 minute intervals.
 Let is not even think about sitting one’s Stepford Mummy posterier on a lounger, poofy or not, because “Pottering” with a wobbler ACTUALLY means following the little turdler, 3 steps behind, lifting her away from the dog’s bowl and racing her to the gate 16 times in 6 minutes, wondering how her fat little legs are so fast?  😥
Then, let us realise that unless you have a fecking COOK residing in your home, having a light summery etc dinner, STILL requires Mammy to go inside to COOK IT. And going for pizza would require gettinto the car again… nope! 😭
And so begins the END of the “pottering”, and the beginning of ARMAGETTIN…which is where you forcibly remove the suncream clad, slippery, sun stricken, cranky, exhausted and very fecking happy wobbler from the sunshine, by grabbing her in your ARMS and (trying to) GET IN!  

Armagettin. 😅😅
Let us then rejoice in the fact that Iggle Piggle is working his blue bottomed magic in the corner and let us spend the next hour feeding the kids who are two fecking HOT to eat anyway and looking longingly at the sunshine that you can’t get out to, and watching the clock, wishing it to be bedtime so that we can steal the last 30 minutes of sunshine for ourselves.
Let us love this weather, but let is not fool ourselves.  

Stepford Mammies we are not.
It’s not all pottering and gleefully finding bugs in the “gawden Dahling”.  Sometimes it’s a suncreamy, slippery, cranky sesspit of overheated mayhem, that will ultimately lead to 2 sticky, smelly and happily knackered minions CRASHING from a combination of sunshine and heat, and the need for all the bedsheets to be washed in the morning. 

(Trust me, THAT is easier than trying to bath these two tonight! 

Feral I tell you…😍😍😂😂)
And THEN, let us sup on cold grapes and enjoy the not so sunshiny, but still quite lovely evening, in the suncream free company of my boychild. 👇👇👇

Have a good one Lovelies. 😂😂😂