Standing by your bed mum

To say that parenthood is an emotional roller coaster is a HUGE understatement.
It’s like someone has put every emotion you could possibly feel into a bottle, topped it up with explosives, given it a good shake and popped the cork.

Mini-Me recently went through a rough patch.
Actually, I’m wrong.
WE recently went through a rough patch.

She was throwing tantrums like one of those tennis ball launcher machines…constantly and violently.
I was banging my head off a brick wall.
Nothing anyone said helped…her playschool, my mum, friends with kids, the interweb.  Nothing.
There was screaming.  There were tears. There was foot stomping, huffing, door banging and rage.
And I was as guilty of each of these as she was.

After one particularly shitty day, where we’d had some epic melt downs, I stood by her bedside, watching her sleeping.
And I sobbed my heart out.
I was looking at her perfect, pretty little face, content and soft in the dark.
I was wondering how someone so small and innocent could really be making me feel so much anger and frustration.
Not 30 minutes earlier, she had been screaming and crying because she didn’t want her teeth brushed.  I was irritated and exhausted and ended up shouting at her.  She completely fell apart then and sobbed her way to sleep.
My beautiful girl, who I adore and for whom I would die, fell asleep with my angry words ringing in her ears.

And it broke my heart.

Hubby arrived home to a snivelling mess, but after the previous weekend where we’d ventured to Dublin for the night, he wasn’t surprised.  Her behaviour that weekend had been so testing, that any notion we had of a family holiday abroad this year, went out the window.

She was just too stressful.
And so was I.
Because it wasn’t only Mini -Me’s behaviour that had to change.
I was obviously doing something completely wrong too.
And after all, she’s 4.
It’s not really her job to fix things is it?

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I read article after article on “Positive Parenting”? And while in theory, it’s just lovely, when your little cherub is stopping just short of spinning her head 360° in the supermarket because another child looked at her, it isn’t always effective.

When she’s hitting me, it’s not OK to say “I understand you’re angry but this is making Mammy sad.” Because my 4 year old can throw a bloody punch.

What it did help with however, was getting me to behave myself.
Instead of automatically scolding every time she “started”, I found myself anticipating the little triggers and choosing my battles.

I tried hugging, distraction, affirmative language.

I even started dancing like a lunatic to whatever pop song was on the radio if she started whining. (This is worth it on sooooooooo many levels. She ends up laughing and then joining in.  I end up looking like an absolute eejit but burning off some of the frustration I’m feeling.
And yes, it diverts the tantrum or row or whatever is about to kick off.)

I’ve started having “chats” with her at bedtime.  I ask her what her favourite thing was about today, what made her happy, what made her sad, what she wants to dream about…things like that.  And it’s helping.  She really surprised me after a few nights, when she said “Mammy, what makes you love me?”
I listed off all the things I love about her.
She was delighted with herself.

We’re communicating.
We’re getting there.
I’ve also made an effort to do some stuff with her on our own. I’m pretty sure that some of the behaviour was stemmed from a little bit of jealousy of the baby.

So, while we have a looooooong way to go, (and realistically,  I’m aware that I may get used to it!), we’re getting there, slowly.

Someone wrote this week that Mummy bloggers are putting pressure on Mums to be perfect.  She’s reading the wrong bloggers.

Being a mum isn’t easy.
Yes it’s amazing, and fulfilling and wonderful and hilarious, and it’s my favourite job in the world.
But it’s also terrifying, difficult, exhausting, testing and brutal.  There are days and nights where you feel so crappy about yourself that you don’t even have the energy to cry.
You question your own decisions.
You doubt your every thought.
You analyse your reactions.
You look in the mirror and wonder what the hell is happening.
You feel guilty for wanting just 5 minutes to yourself.
You wonder if you’re ever going to get it right.
You honestly believe sometimes that you’re going crazy.

You stand by her bedside, watching her sleep…sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, but always loving and knowing that tomorrow is a new day.

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The rough patch is gradually passing, (until the next one).
Why?
Because I relaxed a bit and you know what, it probably was just “a phase she’s going through.”
And while this phase is cureently calm and better, I’ll enjoy it. 😂

I am Standing by your bed Mum.

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I am Social Media Mum

I like social media.
I like how it allows me to stay in touch with people.
I like how it helps me to connect with old friends.
I love how it allows my family members who are scattered like glitter across the planet, to see what’s happening at home.
I love how it lets me see my niece’s little face and how she knows who I am even though they live abroad.
I love how one comment or image can spark conversations that are both heated and entertaining; sometimes even intelligent!
I like to see photographs of the people I like, smiling and happy.
I enjoy it and I get it I suppose.

As a Mummy, it provides some escapism. When the kids are asleep or you find yourself with 5 minutes to sit with a cuppa, there’s something nice about hitting the little blue F  and seeing what’s happening in the real world.

You know? That place where exciting things happen? Where Peppa Pig isn’t in charge and where people live wonderful lives?

Where everyone has terrifyingly precise, painted eyebrows and sparkly white teeth and where people look naturally happy, all of the time?

You get to look into the lives of your “friends”: see their exciting nights out, admire their fabulous clothes, wonder where they get the time or money to visit that salon again.

We see happy families, smiling for the selfie.
We see who’s at the gym, who’s out for dinner and who’s heading away on holiday.

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And while there is no harm in this really,  the key is to know that what you’re looking at is not reality.
It’s virtual.
It’s fabricated.
It’s lies.

No one’s life is perfect all of the time.  We know that, but let’s face it…who is going to voluntarily put a shitty photograph of themselves up for the world to see?

The natural selfies are probably one of 23 shots.

There are magical filters that apparently beautify! (Note to self…find out more about these.)

The reality is that regardless of how careful you are, if you look through your list of friends, you’ll possibly come across at least 2 people about whom you have to ask yourself “who is this?”

And while it keeps us connected, a huge issue for many new mums, is the isolation caused by social media.

Yes, we can see what’s happening and stay up to date with our friends.  We post photographs and status updates about our children and about our lives, to let our friends and families see how cute they are and how entertaining life is with kids.

But when this means that our friends feel that they don’t need to visit, or meet for coffee, or pick up the phone, then… we have a problem.

When seeing everyone else having fun, makes you feel boring and frumpy in your busy, unglamorous world of feeds and nappy changes, then…we have a problem.

When you know the story before someone tells you it, then…we have a problem.

When someone you haven’t spoken to in 2 years only realises that you’re no longer friends when you finally unfriend them on social media, then…we have a problem.

When every conversation  you have includes the line “Yeah, I saw that,” then…we have a problem.

And it’s our own fault.  We see it all on social media so we no longer feel the same need to ring someone up to ask how they’re doing.
After all, we know they’ve been to dinner this week, had the dog to the beach and that the baby has been puking.
We read it on Facebook.

We no longer consider a coffee date important as we know what’s going on with them.
We read it on Facebook.

But of course, Facebook doesn’t give you the same satisfaction that you get from good conversation over a cuppa.
Facebook doesn’t give you a hug before you go back to the whirlwind of your life.
Facebook might help you feel connected to the world outside your home, but only for a second, and only until it doesn’t.

Last week, I met a good friend for dinner.

She’s not on Facebook.

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It was refreshing. She was interested in my stories, in how I was, in how the girls were doing… she hasn’t seen it on Facebook. I was delighted to hear about what she’s been up to since Christmas. It was real conversation and it was lovely. We actually had so much to catch up on.  There were no lies about how perfect life is.  It’s difficult to lie to someone’s face.

We were able to talk about the difficulties we have with our respective Mini-Mes. We laughed at things we remembered from our nights out BC. Stories were interesting because they hadn’t already been told or seen. It was good, old fashioned catch up and it made me feel fuzzy and loved and ridiculously real again.

So while this isolation I speak of obviously doesn’t just apply to mums, that’s the angle I’m seeing it from.  I’m lucky that I have a wonderful family and some very good friends, but sometimes, just sometimes, being a mummy in the presence of two fabulously fun princesses 24 hours a day, can be a lonely place.

And while social media is fantastic and helps us stay in touch, it isn’t real.

So if you know someone; a mummy or daddy, or friend or cousin, who you have to really think about the last time you actually spoke to them, do you and them a favour.

Pick up the phone and say hi.
Or call to visit and actually hold the baby, while she makes you a coffee.

Rather than sharing sentimental quotations or memories on our friends’ pages, we really need to try to make more of our reality… not our virtual reality.

So there you go.
Social media is fabulous.  I get it.  I enjoy it.
But sometimes, it just isn’t enough.
And that’s the truth.

I am Social Media Mum.

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I am Stuff-that-is-frozen Mum

Today, I did the grocery shopping.
Or as we say here in Donegal, “I got a few messages“.

I had a full 30 minutes in the supermarket, without the babies.
It was thoroughly enjoyable.

It was quiet.

It was, dare I say, relaxing.

Like a holiday in fact.

If I had been allowed to sit in aisle 7 with a glass poured from one of the many bottles of wine that lined it, I may even have been able to get that “holiday feeling” you only get with daytime tipples in the sun.

Obviously,  I didn’t drink wine in the supermarket.
Instead, I bought the “messages” to keep my wee family fed for another few days.

I bought the meat…(sausages and all, despite all the ranting on the radio today about a certain Friday night talk show host…)

I bought the fruit; lots of it since Mini-Me has decided that she only eats “fwoot” now, not dinner.
I bought the vegetables; fresh and frozen.

And then I went to collect my first born from her ballet class.

We were driving home.
“Can we go to Gwanneee’s house for TEN minutes?”

“Yes, but we can only stay for ten minutes because I have frozen stuff in the bags.”

And then she belts out a scream of excitement so loud that she’s either a) seen Santa Claus or b) seen a unicorn.

I almost crash the car, such is the volume of the scream.

“OH…MY…G!!” she gushes with utter dramatics.”I CAN’T BEWEEEEEVE YOU BOUGHT ME FROZEN STUFF. YOU ARE THE BEST MAMMY EVER!”

I’m completely confused.  (This morning I’m pretty certain she told me I was “not my fwend.”)

And then I realise that when I say “frozen stuff”, I think this…

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And when Mini -Me hears “Frozen Stuff”, she thinks this...

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And if you look closely, you’ll see that when I Googled “frozen stuff” to search for images for this blog, Google thinks the same as my 4 year old.

My daughter is obviously a genius.

My daughter and Google are on the same wave length.

My wave length?

I’m still stuck on holidays on aisle 7.

I am Stuff-that-is-frozen Mum❄❄⛄⛄❄❄

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I am Soundtrack to her life Mum

Sing like no one is listening…

Mini-Me has a habit.  It’s an adorable habit.
She sings a constant soundtrack to her life.

When she’s playing alone, she accounts her actions in random song, to random tunes.
“I am playing…into the kitchen. ..with the dolly…who is SLEEEEEEEEEPING!”

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It’s kind of like Will Ferrell as Buddy in Elf.
I love it.
Recently,  I’ve been impressed by her use of rhyme in these songs. 
“Will you have some tea Mary?  Some tea…with me…very!”

As a lover of musical theatre and Disney, you can just imagine how blissfully proud I am of her tendency to sing along to herself. 
So recently, her temper has taken a leap the whole way to Teenager level.  She could actually teach our 17 year old bloke how to throw a strop.
Imagine Chucky and Emily Rose had a baby…
You now know what I’m dealing with.

Yesterday, about ten minutes after a particularly frightening episode over my mistake of putting ham into her ham sandwich, she began her singing.

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I had been watching her, wondering how to deal with my generally sweet child who has found new levels of frustration to deal with, so I listened.

This was the key.  I’d listen to her because obviously she was expressing herself through song, unaware of the fact that she was giving me insight to her mind.  I’d soon figure out what is bothering her and causing the tantrums.
Supermum… feckin genius Woman!
And so.
She sings.

“I wuv my Mammeeee…”
Awwwww. She didn’t 5 minutes ago, but awwwwwww.

“And I wuv my Daddy….”
Bless.  Maybe she misses Daddy.

“Cos he’s a superhero who looks after me…”
Yes, he is. Come to think of it,  it’s almost time for him to come home. Which means I can have a glass of wine…

“And I wuv my baby sisterrrrrrrr
HAH! See.  It’s not jealousy of the baby.  She loves her.  She just sang it straight from her subconscious. I knew it.

“And I am the best big si-i-i-i-ster in the worold…”
Nice key change there Mini-Me.  And yes, you are.

“And the sun is away behind the mountain….cos it’s nearly bedtime…”
How observant my child?

“And….MAAAAAAMMY!”

I almost fall off the stool.  I was so engrossed in the performance of her life, that I forgot that I wasn’t actually an audience member.
“Yes Sweetie?”

This was it.  Here was the moment where she’d say something profound and enlightening.  I’d suddenly make sense of EVERYTHING.  Psychology 101 eat your heart out…

MAMMY?!”
“Yes pet?”

“I WANT A PET HIPPO”…

So there.
That was me told.
She sings because she likes to sing.
I need to listen because I like to listen.  Or sing along.  Whatever.

A car pulls up outside.
“There’s Daddy.  Ask him Honey.”
(Reaches for corkscrew…)

I am Soundtrack to her life Mum.
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I am Scheme in the Sunshine Mum

Scheming, in the Donegal dictionary, can also mean to intentionally avoid going to school.
Playing truant, mitching, scheming…take your pick.
Last Monday.  I schemed school.
Well, technically, Mini-Me schemed school.

But honestly Teacher, it was my idea.

I didn’t even have to open the curtains at 7am to know that the sun was splitting the rocks in that wonderful way that suggests that today was going to be a scorcher.  It may only be March, but the little weather-predicting farmer in me, just knew that it was going to be fantastic.

I looked at the clock.  I looked at the clothes I’d laid out for her the previous night.  I looked at the blue sky and I knew before I’d even allowed the thought to articulate in my mind, that the blue sky was the only one of the these things that mattered.

My girl was not going to school today.  She was going to scheme.  With me.
We were going on an adventure.

I let her dress herself in whatever the heck she liked.  She chose her favourite dress-up dress; lilac and sparkly and hideously ‘Little Miss’ Pageanty, blue leggings, her gold glittery welly-boots and a multi-coloured hand-knit cardigan that we usually keep for shopping trips.

She added the final touch…a huge pink flower headband and Peppa Pig hat..and announced “Now, I’m perfect!”
And she was indeed perfect.

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We wrapped the Princess into her pram, sloshed on some suncream and packed a “picmic” of apple juice and Gingernut biscuits.
And off we went on our adventure.

We’re blessed to live in the absolute sticks…  I mean, if you’re looking for our house, you must first find the “back arse of nowhere” and take the third left.  We’re on top of that hill past the house with the fancy stonework.  If you start going down hill again, you’ve gone too far.
Sally SatNav would need three bottles of wine to find us.

It’s Heavenly.  We live on the family farm, a full field away from where I grew up.  So today, I decided it was about time I took my girls on a trip through my childhood haunts.
We wandered only a mile down the road and back, but we went so much further than that.

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We went back to the 1980’s.
Mini-Me saw the tree in the hedgerow that Mammy used to climb with my best friend Roald Dahl, which no longer has the full covering of foliage that used to hide me from my sister and brother.  (A Neighbour broke my heart when I was 14 by getting too happy with the hedge cutter.  It was never the same and my hidden reading den was destroyed.  For the record, I haven’t forgiven him yet.  I’m looking at you Mr. Bellybutton.)

We stood in the deep mud at the gate to the potato field where we used to spend a fortnight “scheming” each Harvest. (“Slave labour” some might say, but what memories we have.  I swear that there is no better taste than jam and clay sandwiches with tea in a plastic flask cup.)

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We looked at the fields where we used to tie the long grass together and run through it, playing ‘Trippies’.

We found a magic stream… a newly dug drain, but humongously exciting.  it required the immediate throwing in of twigs.

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I showed her the gate the the Fairy Kingdom which lies at the border between Dad’s farm and the next.  The old gate has been lying in that spot, above a busy babbling stream, for over 30 years.  It’s rusted, ruined and utterly convincing as an enchanted gate.  It only opens for Fairies in the moonlight…of course.

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We saw the enchanted tree in the middle of the neighbour’s field.  That’s where Pixie Hollow is…obviously.

We saw the “Jungles”; the messy, overgrown batch of whin bushes where my siblings and cousins and I had the most spectacular adventures as children.

And to top it off, as we munched our bickies and drank our juice, Mini-me realised that we were surrounded by glimmering fairies! (Midges…but hey!)
Oh the excitement.

When we returned home, she was buzzing from the fresh air and the fun.  I was buzzing from the nostalgia and from the realisation that while it may not be quite as safe as it was when we were children, my girls will have the same opportunities for imagination and explorations as I did.
They’ll play in fields.  They’ll get wellies stuck in mud.  They’ll have adventures in jungles of whin bushes and they’ll hide up trees with their favourite books.
And where my Mum used to sound the car horn as our signal to haul our behinds back to reality for bedtime, I’ll probably just text them to come home.  Because times have changed.

But what hasn’t changed is the fact that sometimes, you have to simply turn away from routine and convention and go have fun.
And you can’t measure, grade or assess how much a child can learn from simply going on a walk outside with Mum or Dad.

So for one day only, I was Scheme in the Sunshine Mum. (and it was awesome!) 🙂

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