Author Archives: Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

I am Say Shut Up Mum

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“I need to put on my lupstuck QUICKLY Mammy!”

Yeah to sit in a dark auditorium for the next 3 hours? Whatever! 5 going on 15.

And yet as grown up as she’s getting, sometimes things remind me of her adorable innocence! 

Like the radio.

We’re driving home after the panto and I’m not really paying much attention to the radio. That is, until I find myself humming along to “I wanna sex you up!” and realise what’s is playing! 

Christ alive!

 Just as I turn it down, oh so subtly, to save the ears of my little one, she tuts.

“What a Very wude song Mammy” she scolds.

Holy shit methinks.  She knows the word sex. She knows that sex is a rude Word. (For the radio!) Hang on. Where has she heard That? How does she know? What’s haaaaappening?

“It is indeed” Mammy agrees. 

“Did you HEAR what that man was singing?” 

“Erm yeah…”

“What Silly words. Why would you sing a song Saying ‘I wanna say SHUT UP!’ So weird like!” 

“I wanna say shut up?”

“Yeah Mammy. Dat’s what he was singing!” 

Sing it wuf me Mammies! 

“I wanna say SHUT up!” 😂😂😂 

Happy Sauvignon…sorry, Saturday! 🍷

By the way, are you following me on Facebook? You should. The craic is mighty! 

I am Such a Silly Notion Mum 

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Ooooooh it’s Friyay.

Today Mammy took a notion.
Mammy is going to surprise the girlies by bringing them to meet Daddy for a surprise dinner date and we’ll have a lovely family evening with our two well behaved darlings, who Shall eat their Yummy dindins. Then we shall have the joy of watching them eating Pink icecream, the adorable little munchkins, before going home for a relaxing bedtime where Daddy would put them to bed while Mammy pours a glass of grapes and puts her Tired feet up for a good old Corrie wedding…
Yeah.

Mammy is a deluded Twatsickle who often falls victim to her very own Disney Princess notions. 😂

But never fear.

Mammy has her very own Mini whose main purpose in life (today anyway) seems to be to knock Silly Mammy off her Disnified perch.
We did meet Daddy.

 From the second we sat down, Mini-me was a wagon. A proper little shitsickle. She made Princess look like an angel. That IS Quite the achievement! I won’t go into too much detail but when I tell you that ignoring the waitress, refusing to order, asking for a cocktail, bursting into tears because Mammy ordered for her, sliding onto the floor, scribbling on the menu were only a FEW of her party tricks, you can imagine the rest. 
Mammy and Daddy spent the date sending each other apologetic “what we’re we thinking” looks and starting conversations they both knew would not be finished before they started. 
Mammy wished she could go back to correcting exams and considered that she should have just gone home to cook the freezer contents. Daddy wondered why he had ever thought that leaving work early was a good idea… I’m guessing that only for fear of Divorce, he would have happily gone back to his BFF Jim.
They did go home: After NO dessert. They did get the girls to bed: After NO story and plenty of the special strops reserved only for the first Friday night after school holidays… 
Mammy did pour grapes. 

And just like Mammy’s fairytale picture of her evening DIDN’T happen, neither did the Corrie Wedding.  
But See there’s where Mammy is going wrong… sometimes life is Corrie, not Disney. 

At least with Corrie, you expect disaster! 

Here’s to all you Mammies who got a reality check from your little Notionwreckers today.
And here’s to Poor Sinead… she’s better off. It’s only have ended in no icecream and wine.

😂🍷😘

How was your Friday?

I am So Takeawaying Thursday Mum

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Hurray and Woohoo!

Thursday is Takeaway Day.

It’s time for our local Ocras to get their weekly phonecall from me as I lift the girls from creche.

“AsmallkidspizzamealandaportionofplainsausagesplleasheandthankyouJoe”. 

“TenminutesMaria!” (He doesn’t even have to ask who it is.  That’s service for ya!)

And I look forward to it soooooooooooooo much.  Not because I am going to eat it.  No.  This Mammy is back on the wagon and as much as I love Joe’s pizzas, I am being good (during the week anyway!)

No.  I look forward to it for a few reasons.

Mainly because I am still traumatized by the sausages incident of last night.

Secondly, because I don’t get home until almost 6pm if I go to see Jim and my minions will be “Staaaaaaaaarvin Mammy” if they have to wait for me to cook.

Thirdly, because after the generally organised and productive start of the week, I’m running out of gas/petrol/thewilltolive and quite simply can’t be arsed cooking. (reminder to Him, we still need ACTUAL gas too!)

And most importantly, it means happy kids, no dishes and a headstart on my Thursday night Happy Mammy Blitz.

My Thursday Mammy Blitz is class.

No matter how knackered I am, I make Thursday night all about cleaning.

I get the girls to bed, do the washing, clean the sespits that are the bathrooms, mop all the floors and generally leave the place as clean as possible so that when we get home on Friday evening, it is actual down time.  I’ve mentioned it before.  I’ve done it for years. For me, the best thing about Friday evening is coming home and not having to start cleaning and doing housework.  It’s a mess again by Saturday, but hey!  Whatever works eh?

And the ABSOLUTE best thing about my Mammy Blitz, is that my reward for being such a superorganised-notsausageburning-shitMum, is that I get a glass of wine in front of the tellybox before bed.

And now that I have Derry Girls to look forward to on Channel 4 at 10pm, it’s going to be even better.

derry

Ain’t nothing dousing this good mood today.

Now!

Have a good one!

I am Sausages, sh*t & Spuds Mum

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This evening was all about the S.
S is for Sausages that got so burnt because I was explaining to Mini-me that she doesn’t need to worry about the world exploding and everyone dying…

S is also for Shit. As in the Shit that happened inside AND outside the nappy that didn’t work on my Twoubler’s bum. 

“Come so Mammy can change your Bum!” 

“Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit!” Sang Mammy.

EVERYWHERE.

In the nappy. 

ON the nappy.

On the vest.

On the jeans.

On the FLOOR! 

On my hands.

On HER hands.
All in the space of 2.6 SECONDS…
And of course, as Princess is repeating EVERYTHING at the minute, you can imagine what she was singing in the kitchen, bare bummed, when The Him got home…
And S is is for Spuds which is all they got for dinner tonight because of the burnt Sausages…
Supermum my Sausages… 

Sausages, Shit and spuds.

😐

I am Some New Year Mam-tras Mum

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Happy New Year my Lovely Ladybelles.paper-3042645_960_720

By now, the trees are down and the house looks alarmingly bare.  It’s back to uniforms and routine and lunches and gymbags…and after 2 weeks of dreadful flus, no heating and general Cabin Fever, I for one am ready for normality.

I took my tree down on Saturday morning and very quickly realised just how DIRTY my house is.

There is a layer of dust, of handprints and of pawprints and of glitter on every surface in my home and I have decided to give it a new name:  it is my “Layer of Love”.

Giving it a nice name like that makes it easier to tolerate.  Clever eh?  I don’t feel so bad about the dirt now, when I consider that it was my own little munchkins who happily caused it.

happy

In the midst of the New Year’s Resolution BS of January, here are a few precepts or mantras that I intend to try harder to follow this year.  I’m not changing anything. I simply try to employ these in order to try to keep my sh*t together.

These would the Rules of Mammying if I were Queen of the World.

  1.  Embrace the Layer of Love.  Yes, our houses must be safe and generally clean, but handprints on the glass or dust on the TV aren’t really good reason to stress, are they?
  2. Let it go. The things that bother you? The people who annoy you? Are they really worth being bothered about?  If it’s outside of your own 4 walls, it’s not important.
  3. What people think of you, is none of your business.  If people don’t like you, it’s THEM who has the problem, not you.  Work on YOU liking you. Most important.
  4. Believe that you can.  Who says that you can’t?  Tell that committee of negative thoughts in your head to sit down and shut up.
  5. Stop Comparenting.  Comparenting is my new word.  It’s clever isn’t it? It’s when we compare our parenting to others.  And it’s never positive or productive, so stop it!

I’m not going to change in 2018.  I’m quite happy with who and how I am already thank you.  I manage (just about!) to keep it all between the ditches just fine as I am and I will simply try to keep implementing these ideas in my daily life.

Especially the Comparenting one.  I don’t care if Shaniqua’s Mum lets her sit in the front seat.  I don’t care if Tarquin’s Mum gives him Football Special in his lunch.  I don’t care if Jezzabell’s Dad brings her to every dance class going.  Good for them.

Parent for your kids, in your home.

I hope your layer of love is only beautiful after the holidays.

mum