Monthly Archives: July 2017

I am Shiny Window Mum

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Today, I cleaned the glass on the doors in my kitchen.

I have been looking at the fingerprints and handprints and food smudges and what-the-feck-else-I-do-not-know-smudges since the LAST time I washed them. 😣😣

“The last time I washed them” is a bit vague. It varies depending on who I am talking to: If I know you well, I won’t even excuse them, because you won’t even notice them, but you know yourself, there will always be those people who arrive or pop in or visit, to whom you feel compelled to lie about your cleaning.

“Would you BELIEVE I only washed those windows LAST weekend? Can’t keep them clean with these two rascals… hardeehardeehar”, you quaffle with extra hugh pitch in your voice, while you ignore the Him’s raised eyebrows because he knows that they POSSIBLY haven’t been WIPED in 3 months, never mind cleaned! 😂😂

It’s like confessions…”Bless me Mrs for I have sinned. It’s been 3 months since my last confession.” (Cue fires in hell sizzling in excitement that you’ve just LIED to the Priest, IN CONFESSION. 😂)

So yes, today.

I DID clean the fecking glass AND THEN, I left my two minions eating their frozen frubes in front of Upsy Crazy and Macka Facka and scooted to my bedroom to leave a basket of clothes on the floor (where they shall rest and mature for up to 3 weeks…it’s the only way you know?) 😄😄

Approximately 36 seconds later, I returned to this little shitster👇👇, caught white handed clattering the fecking glass with the end of her Frube… I’m going to go ahead and think positively that she OBVIOUSLY saw me cleaning them earlier and so was imitating her Mary-of-the-poppins-esque Mammy Bear.

This theory has been further verified by the fact that she had ALREADY “cleaned” the Tellybox too… So here we are now, with the glass having not been cleaned in months, and now suddenly cleaned 3 times in one fecking day!

Wee monster this doll… 😇😇

How was your day? 😂😂

I am “Say What Mummy Pig?” Mum

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Now. You all know how much I love/hate Peppa Pork.

Most days, it doesn’t even register with my brain that it’s on, apart from when Princess screams “Paaapaaaaa!” at the top of her voice at the Tellybox. As much as I despise the nasal whining of Peppa as she bitches about everything her life throws at her, bosses George around, ignores Mammy and humiliates her Daddy for being fat, this squeal of delight from my youngest also indicates to ME that I have 3 minutes to pee, or shower, or breathe.

See? Love/hate. 😂

Usually their little Piggy voices wash over my head. I pay little attention to the spoilt little piggy and her mono-wordallic brother or her poor, underappreciated Mammy Pig (who quite frankly HAS to be mixing her happy pills with gin and valium under the stairs in order to maintain such a chirpy disposition amidst this level of feckin stupidity), but today, TODAY, Mammy Pig said something SO utterly RIDICULOUS and SO obviously STUPID, that my ears had to prick up.

😐 “Naughty Daddy” quipped Mummy Pork. “Look at how dirty your car is!”

Right. Back up there Bacon-arse.

Let’s rewind a second here…😡

In what world, on what planet, in which TIME ZONE, would the Mammy have to chastise the DADDY for having a messy car? Because in the REAL world, the parent who has the children 90% of the time, has the car which is messy. EVERYONE knows that.

Actually, the second the car seat goes into the family car, it transforms magically into a bin on wheels. The floor becomes invisible under mountains of crap, never to be seen again until your youngest is approximately 11 years old. Things get sticky. Things become unsettlingly dirty. Things begin to grow on upholstery…No matter how OCD you are about tidy and clean, any chance you have of keeping a tidy car, go out the window at the same time as your “Eminem” CD or “Book of Mormon” Soundtrack.

Even when you attempt to organise the back seat, you know with wee boxes and containers, all you are REALLY doing, is adding MORE CRAP to the mess; adding MORE STUFF for them to chuck around when you’re driving… So considering that Daddy Pig said that he’d take the family on a car run for “a treat”, thereby suggesting that he is in the car ALL BY HIMSELF 99% of the fecking time, FORGIVE ME for wondering why the fook his car would be messy!?

Because in MY experience, it’s Mammy Pig’s car that is disgusting and dirty and messy, while Daddy’s still looks like it did the day he drove it out of Daddy Dog’s garage and the little Piggies aren’t ALLOWED to eat in Daddy Pig’s car, because they’re never IN IT long enough to BREAK Daddy’s soul or drive him to screaming “Just EAT IT THEN!”

So well done Peppa Pork writers. So much for providing realistic and relevant subject matter in your multicoloured portrayal of the life of piggies. See if it had been Daddy opening Mammy Pig’s car and shouting “WTF is going on with your car woman? It’s fecking MINGING!” I’d probably have sat down with them to watch it.

Fecking Peppa.

Bacon for dinner anyone? 😂

I am Say Hi to “Nobody” Mum

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Mammy has decided to add a new member to our family.

If my minions can have imaginary friends, and The Him can have Him’s Jim, then Mammy can have one too.

My imaginary friend is fecking FABLIS.

I call my imaginary friend “Nobody”. 😂

“Nobody” is perfect.

“Nobody” notices all the EVERYTHING I do around the house.

“Nobody” notices that the laundry is done, that the floor has been mopped, that the toilets have been cleaned.

“Nobody” is grateful when they find clothes folded and in the wardrobe. Nobody” is grateful when they find food in the fridge or dinner on the cooker.

“Nobody” says Thank You each time they notice how much cleaning I have done.

“Nobody” is helpful.

“Nobody” knows how to put dirty clothes in the wash basket. “Nobody” can work the fecking washing machine…

“Nobody” helps Mammy to cook and plan meals and get healthy food into the minions.

“Nobody” sometimes even offers to go do the grocery shopping.

“Nobody” sees when Mammy hasn’t showered in 2 days and offers to mind the minions long enough for her to put too much argon oil in her hair.

“Nobody” does their share WITHOUT being asked.

But most importantly, “Nobody” listens to Mammy. “Nobody” does what I ask the FIRST time she asks. Mammy NEVER has to shout at “Nobody”, because “Nobody” actually HEARS Mammy’s voice BEFORE she raises it.

“Nobody” is fab.

“Nobody” makes Mammy feel great about herself.

“Nobody” makes Mammy feel appreciated and special.

“Nobody” really understands Mammy. “Nobody” looks at Mammy wondering wtf she is shouting about.

“Nobody” makes Mammy happy, but “Nobody” is only a figment of Mammy’s imagination… a shadow.

Mammy knows that “Nobody” is not an actual person, but somedays, Mammy chooses to imagine that “Nobody” is VERY real, (and Mammy prefers to imagine that “Nobody” looks like a cross between Thor, Wolverine and Gaston, just for fun! Sigh…)

But while “Nobody” might be perfect, they can never give Mammy a hug, or a smile, or a slobbery kiss, like my 3 Somebodies can. 💜💖💖

And a “Somebody” is always better than a “Nobody” in real life, aren’t they?

Anyway, who wants to live with someone who does all of these things ☝☝that “Nobody” does anyway?

Sure Mammy would have nothing to grumble and feel self-righteous and under-appreciated about then, would she?

So who would YOUR “Nobody” look like and what would “Nobody” do? 😂😘

I am She loves her dodees Mum

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S-Mum is a TUBE.

Little Miss Princess has a habit. She requires 3, yes THREE, dodees every night to go to bed; One in her mouth, and one in each fudgy little paw.

Mini-Me was the same. I think it’s cute that they have this little quirk in common. Yeah, yeah, she shouldn’t have a dodee at 20 months.

Yeah yeah, 3 dodees seems excessive.

Yeah yeah, your kid never takes a dodee… good for you.

But this little habit has allowed this Mamma and Pappa to have 12 hours sleep for 18 of the past 20 months so as long as she looks for the dodees, she shall get them. I’ll get them off her when she’s ready and I am able to deal with 3 or 4 nights of Demonic screaming, but I won’t stress too much about it to be honest. Have you ever seen a 17 year old with a dodee? (In public 😂)

But recently, with the rather impressive development of her new friend Temper, 👶Princess has been participating in new behaviour, which quite frankly has a) become a royal pain in the arse and b) caused more than a few 5am mornings in the past few weeks. 😡😡

You see, her new friend Temper, sometimes convinces her to throw her 3 dodees OUT through the bars of the cot, which then leads to dramatic sobs until one of us, (yes, ME), stumbles into the room to return the little feckers to her from the floor.

At 5.30am this morning, I was back in bed, listening to her scream and refusing point blank to go back into the room and I thought, for the 371st time that I must find and invest in one of the little teddies/taggies that my very clever sister-in-law has for her babies. You tie the dodees onto it and baby always has access to them at night time.

So today, I was in town TWICE, forgetting BOTH times to go looking for one of these little yoks which will CERTAINLY solve our problem. I was putting her down to bed tonight, cursing myself for forgetting and vowing in my head to hunt for one tomorrow. As I was leaving her room, I spotted this 👇👇👇 little taggy yok that has been in her nursey… SINCE MY BABY SHOWER… But which I’ve never ACTUALLY looked at properly.

Since my FECKING Baby shower!?

Seriously… Possibly bought by same clever sister-in-law. 😂 And LOOKIT! The little ends of it unravel to allow you to TIE THE FECKING DODEES ONTO THEM!

This has been under my nose THE WHOLE TIME. And I didn’t even know.😡😡😡 So yes, S-Mum is a tube, but tonight I am a smug and happy tube who will HOPEFULLY NOT have to drag my sorry arse out of bed to pick up the dodees tonight…or at least until Temper decides to tell her to feck the full taggy out over the cot sides instead. 😂😂😂 How was your day? 😍😘

I am STOP TOUCHING ME Mum

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This Mammy loves hugs and squeezes and little chubby fingers on her skin.  Mammy loves kisses and Eskinosies and the feel of Mini-Me’s arms crawling around her neck for a hug.  Mammy is aware that when you become a Mammy, you are going to be touched, a LOT.  But Mammy is still, 5 and a half years on, not ready for the CONSTANT touching. 
It’s 24/7.  It’s mostly lovely, but JESUS, there are times when Mammy just wants to NOT be touched, even for a little while. 

LIke, a half an hour.  
Now, there is no harm in the Touching. It is usually quite acceptable and welcome. In fact, if we delve into the minds of the TOUCHERS in the house, it is clear that the touching is a sign (usually) of love and affection and it is important for affirmation of love and all that jazz, but sometimes, Mammy considers pretending to have Scabies, just so that everyone will piss away off for 20 minutes and stop TOUCHING her!

The Wobbler thinks:

Oh! There is Mammy.  I will touch her.  I will swing off her legs while she walks.  I will stand on her feet while she cooks.  I will sit on her head while she snoozes.  I will sit on her knee instead of on my chair.  I will sit on her chair along with her.  I will hold on to her hand so hard that if she tries to sneak away as I fall asleep, I will know.  I will insist on being lifted when I see her standing with nothing to do.  I will make special effort to ensure that if her tellyphoney rings, she will not forget that I am here, because I will tug at her leg until she lifts me and then I will rub her face.  I will stick my finger in her mouth.  I will stick my finger up her nose.  I will shove my finger in her ear.  Oh Lookit. Mammy is on the sofa.  That is my sofa.  I will sit on her head.  I will stick my hand down into Mammy’s bra to find the dodee that I didn’t hide there earlier.  I will touch her every time she walks by.  I likes to touch Mammy.  Mammy is soft and squishee and she smiles when I touches her so that is what I must do.  Always.  Forever. I am the bestest witto wobbler around.

The 5 year old thinks:

 I will ignore Mammy until I notice little sister sitting on her, and then I too will sit on her.  I will make sure she doesn’t feel lonely while she pees.  I will look after her while she showers. I will remember to ask her EVERYTHING when she is trying to talk to Granny on the phone.  I will ignore her in the coffee shop until her friend sits down to talk to her.  Oh Look! Mammy has sat at the the table. I must sit on her knee to make sure she doesn’t drink all of the coffee.  It is bad for her.

I will hug Mammy’s armpit.  I will stick my fingers in her armpit.  For some reason, I like armpits.  I must keep touching Mammy so that she doesn’t forget my existence for 3 minutes.  She must be touched as often as possible.

Mammy’s minions go to bed and Mammy wonders what feels so strange.  Is it the silence? Is it the calm? Is it the peace?

NO.  It’s the lack of touching.
Daddy comes home.  

Daddy thinks:
  Oh look.  There is my beautiful wife. She looks extra sexiful in those baggy PJ bottoms and my teeshirt.  I’m glad she hasn’t brushed her hair or washed her face today.  I like the smell of Bolognese on her face.  I have missed her so much that I must touch her everytime she walks past.  I will touch her.  I will slap her bum every time I pass her..  I will huggle her.  Mammy looks lonely there without the girls hanging off of her.  I will make her feel better.  I will hang off of her.  Maybe Mammy would like some hanky panky.  She has been here on her own with the kids all day after all.  I wonder did the baby hide her dodees in Mammy’s bra today..  Maybe I will check…
Oh.
Mammy is looking at me with sexy eyes…or maybe those are her I shall hurt you eyes… I can never tell.
“Don’t FUCKING TOUCH MEEEEEEEEEEE” screams Mammy.
‘Ok,’ thinks Daddy, ‘not her sexy eyes’.  Daddy realises. For some reason, Mammy doesn’t like being touched tonight.  She must be hormental.  
 Actually no.  Daddy remembers that this is The Touching Hour.    

Mammy needs her Touching Hour every evening.  It is like the Witching Hour, only more dark and dangerous.  And the chances of further touching depend on the success of the Touching Hour.
‘Where is the chocolate?’ Thinks Daddy.  ‘I should sit in the corner here and throw chocolate at her until she calms down’.  Clever Daddy.  “Will I make you a cup of tea?” asks Daddy.  Mammy snarls at him.  Daddy pours her a glass of wine.  Clever Daddy.  “Here you are Darling” he says, trying not to touch her.  
Mammy sips her wine, remembering a time when she used to pay people to touch her; When it was relaxing to have hands all over her in a smellified dark room in a spa or salon.  She would love to go for a massage, but that would mean someone else touching her and at this moment in time, that might make Mammy hurt someone.  
She looks at Daddy, who used to be the only person who touched her.  He is so lovely, she thinks.  He has a very nice bum.

After a while, Mammy walks past Daddy in the kitchen and slaps his bum.  “Yay!” thinks Daddy.  The Touching hour is over”, but Daddy lets Mammy pour another glass of grapes before he suggests such.  

 Daddy is clever.

Mammy sometimes feels like she lives with a squad of fecking Octopus…octopi?

But they are cute little octopi and by the morning, she will be ready for all the touching, all over again.