I am So I’m a Career Mum (again)

Rejoice! Rejoice!

It is Friyay…the FIRST Friyay after a FULL week of school and work and routine. And we have all survived. (albeit just about, but survived we have.πŸ˜‚)
We may be frazzled and fooked Mammies, but still we must find the energy to REJOICE in the Fact that we have made it to the MOST wonderful evening of the week. πŸ˜†

This week, after two years of maternity leave, unpaid leave and jobsharing, I have finally dipped my toe back into the world of being a Full-time Mammy with a full-time Job. What have I learned? Nothing. But I have remembered MANY things; Things that I had battered down, suffocated and locked in a tattered old box at the back of the memory part of my subconscious, but which now bounce back to the forefront of my ridiculously tired little mind. 😐

Tired Children:

Tired children are cranky.
Tired children like to find a reason, ANY reason, to cry.
Tired children do not KNOW that they are tired.
Tired children refuse to admit that they are tired.πŸ˜₯
Tired children will bite one another.😠
Tired children do not like to go to their beds, regardless of how tired they are.
Tired children like to wake up at 2am and play with their toys, with the light on, noisily enough to waken everyone so that they have someone to tell that they are NOT tired.
Tired children do NOT like to get dressed in the morning.
Tired children do NOT like it when you bounce into their bedrooms at 7am singing β€œGood Morning, Good Moooooooorning!, opening curtains and declaring that it is time for school. (Especially the not tired children who have been up half the night playing with their fecking toys.😈)
Tired children like to say β€œNo” and β€œNo” and sometimes, β€œNoooooo!” to absolutely EVERYTHING that Tired Mammy asks or suggests.

And along with tired children, comes the Tired Mammy. But as well as being a tired Mammy, Mammy ALSO has to be SUPER-ORGANISED Mammy.
Mammy needs to keep on top of the fridge situation.
Mammy needs to pack lunchboxes and school bags and afterschool bags.
Mammy needs to remember the fecking HORROR that is HOMEWORK.
Mammy needs to think about dinners sooner than when she opens the fridge at 6pm.
Mammy needs to set her alarm to make sure she gets out of bed 30 minutes before everyone else if Mammy wants to pee, shower and have a coffee all by herself.
Mammy needs to be an intelligent and functioning adult.
Mammy needs to rid her brain of references to Peppa Pig and Andy and Bing because they are not relevant to Macbeth and teenagers do NOT respond well to them.
Mammy needs to try to keep the washing basket from puking and Mammy needs to arrange everyone’s clothes before bedtime.
Mammy needs to remain relatively Wifely and interesting enough to hold a brief conversation with Tired Daddy when he comes home from Jim.
And Mammy needs to get used to wearing stupid heels and muckup every single day. (I’ll last until the end of September…)
Mammy needs to cram all of the Mammying and playing and cuddling and scolding and fun into 3 hours in the evening, while being JUST as tired as her beloved Tired Children who are determined to PUNISH her tired ass for abandoning them in school and creche. (Even though they both LOVE where they go and actually CRY when they are collected.)
Mammy can not have grapes or gin during the week… πŸ˜›πŸ˜›
Mammy struggles with balancing the Mammy guilt when she’s away from the girlies, and the urge to sell them on ETSY when she’s spent an hour being screamed at and cried at by her Tired Minions.

Mammy can’t win.

In conclusion. Mammy does INDEED need to rejoice that she has made it to Friday night, has the tired minions in bed, her feet up and the grapes poured. πŸ˜‚And now Mammy needs all of her Lovely Supermums to say Hello and remind her of what I have been missing while abandoning you all this week while trying to keep 286 plates spinning without falling off her heels and onto her poor, muck-uped, Mammy-guilty face.

Cheers Bitcheepoos. xxx

I am Snored Mum

Anyone else feel as if they’ve been hit by a double decker bus?

I was in great form yesterday, full of energy and enthusiasm for the weekend after the madness of week 1. We had a lovely date night last night. (Saw Detroit. Tight watch but superb.) I went to bed rather smug in my ability to be all the everything and keep all of the plates spinning, and then I woke up this morning COMPLETELY knackered and spent the day dealing with an exhausted Mini-Me and teething, shattered Wobbler. (A bag of bitches in a briared hedge we were. πŸ˜›πŸ˜›)
But The Him was well rested. 😠
Why?

I’ll fecking tell you why…

You see at 5.45am, Princess Headtheball began chirping through the monitor for her “Dodee” and her “Mammee”… And where “Mammeeeee” usually knows that she’ll eventually find the dodees herself and go back to sleep, you know, because it’s still the MIDDLE OF THE FECKIN NIGHT, The Him is not quite so clever. Before I was awake enough to STOP the big Gombeen, he was up and in her room, talking in soothing, FOOLISH, NAIVE tones to the Rugmonster that is our youngest manipulator. “Sssssssssh now. You lie down and go back to sleep etc…” πŸ˜…
I could hear her raising her eyebrow at him. I could hear him returning to the bedroom door in a fultile and quite hilarious attempt at leaving her there… and then I could hear the apopleptic SCREAM that signified that she was having NONE of it. It translated into “YOU get back in to this room and you lift my soggy bottom and slabbery head RIGHT NOW Servant Man. And Mammeeee? Bring me to her, Peasant.”πŸ˜‚

Fully awake now, Mammy here was thinking what a silly, foolish man her Him was and how he’d know about it now that he would have to get up at stupid o’clock on a Sunday Morning…

Into the bedroom he carries her. WTF?😠😠
“She’ll go back to sleep beside us” he explains.
Will she indeed?
Will she FECK! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

You see, poor Him was being both foolish and optimistic, but was also POSSIBLY trying to prove a point. Because last weekend when we collected the girls from a sleepover in Granny Dearest’s, Granda Bear informed us that she’d woken at 6am but that she’d slept in beside them until 8.40am…

But The Him forgot that such unusual and magical mysteries ONLY happen in the magical Narnia of the Grandparents’ house. Such occurences are not of the real world. πŸ˜› Parents NEVER get to enjoy that kind of joy. NOPE.

Persistent as he is, he did indeed plonk her in beside me before climbing back into bed. She snuggled into me and for about 38 seconds, I thought she would go back to sleep. But then, she reminded me of her intentions to get OUT OF BED by spending 30 minutes sticking random limbs into my back, sitting on my head and sticking her fingers up my nose, into m mouth and into my ears.

That was it. He was going to have to get up and take her up to the kitchen.

Afterall , it WAS HIS mistake wasn’t it? I was just about to tell him as much when I heard it.

The one sound that can send a tired and hormental Mammy-type over the edge, into insanity and off her fecking head…

Yep.
He SNORED.😒😠😠😠😠😠

HOW I did not take a pillow and SUFFOCATE his slumbering, slabbering, snoring self in that instant, I will never know. (But the next time there are nominations sought for saintly people who go above and beyond for the safety and survival of others, think of me). πŸ˜…

And so Mammy ended up doing her usual “FFS I’ll do it MYSELF” stomping dance and getting up to watch CBeebies with the Fudgemonster. But, because Mini-Me was still asleep, I didn’t get to do it loudly enough for Sleeping Beauty to even hear me. πŸ˜…πŸ˜ 
As usual, NO ONE WAS LISTENING!

Has he learned his lesson? OH indeed he has. Because not only did he have to deal with his very own Bunnyboiler/EmilyRose😈 when he got up, he also had to deal with the Wobbler when she entered the realm of “past her sleep tired” that we parents all dread and fear so much.

Oh! And he has also been reminded 398 times that I am sleeping until 2pm next Sunday…

Yeah. What are the chances of that happening Mammies?πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

How was your day?

I am Stupid Tooth Fairy Mum

So Mini-Me lost a tooth yesterday.πŸ˜›

5pm.
“Mammy Mammy. I lost my toof. It fell out at school!”
“Yaaaaaaay! That is super news. Were you a brave big girl?” (Note to self. Find out teacher’s address and drop gin or chocolates on doorstep, knock and run… first day back? Poor woman!πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚)
“The toof fairy will be coming tonight won’t she?”
“Yes she will. How EXCITING!”

11pm.
Mammy would like to know WHO came up with the idea of the stupid tooth fecking fairy anyway? What kind of cruel, sadistic, hormental Mammy decided to reward her minion with the mix of excitement and absolute TERROR that comes with the thought of a feckin FAIRY hovering around her head while she sleeps to steal? That Mammy did NOT think that one through. 😐
Herself was so determined to see the glittery arsed little fecker that she refused to go tomslepp, despite my protestations that “She can’t come until EVERYONE is sleeping!” and “She’s invisible anyway pet. There’s no point staying awake…”
In the end, I left her and her bulging bumblebee-esque eyes standing in her toothless wee head and she eventually fell asleep, but holy Gemima, it took a LONG time.

Christmas shall be fun.

I survived week 1. We all made it out the door every morning, fully clothed and mostly fed. We’ve had a lost tooth, a feckin Fairy, a trip to the optician and one VERY badly behaved furbaby, but right now, Mammy is going to savour this sunset πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡ with a large capri-sun.

How was your week Beautiful?
Any fun for me?

I am Simple Things Mum

I wanted to write to all the Mammies and Daddies whose little people are starting school this week.
I waited for the words to come, and then realised I had already written them. This night last year, I was the Mammy dealing with Mini-Me’s first day at school. I was a snottery, red-eyed, blubbering mess and she was happy out! Behind every perfectly turned out child walking through the school gates this week, there’s a good chance that there’s an emotional wreck of a parent, waving frantically, desperately trying to hold it all together.

To all the Mammies and Daddies drying their baby’s hair this week as they gead off to “big school”, I send my love. And to everyone who told me last year “She’ll be grand”, thank you. Turns out, you were all absolutely right.

πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–Drying your hairπŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–

Tonight, it is different, Drying your hair.
My heart, it is breaking, while you just sit there.
This is so normal, you really don’t see
What’s different about sitting up on my knee.

I comb it. And where you would usually cry,
You don’t, you’re distracted and I wonder why
This troubles me suddenly, makes my heart hurt?
“That’s my big girl” I say, and that’s when I start.

I start the hairdryer, and then they begin;
For each strand that dries, another tear wins.
I’m sobbing, and sobbing, I let them pour down,
You stare at the telly, snug in your nightgown,

Completely oblivious to the mess right behind you,
Who struggles to breath as your hair falls around you.
It’s shiny and finished, but I keep on drying
Glad that you haven’t yet noticed me crying.

The comb puts in order the long strands of gloss,
While Mammy tries to order her feelings of loss,
For while I am proud of you every day,
I know that a baby, you simply can’t stay.

I turn off the dryer and dry up my tears.
I cuddle you tightly and whisper in your ear.
“Your hair is so pretty and I love you so”,
You smile and hug tighter and answer “I know”.

So, drying your hair it was different this time
And yes, I’m being silly, I know you’ll be fine.
And while you’ll soon want to dry your own hair maybe,
You’ll always be this Mummy’s Beautiful Baby.

(The S-Mum 2016)


#SMum #snotterseverywhere #sobbingmess #startingschool

I am Such a GENIUS Mum πŸ˜˜

Mammy is a genius.

A feckin genius I tell you.

As Mini-Me’s ability to COMPLETELY ignore me becomes increasingly professional, I find myself sometimes wondering HOW the FECK to get her to do even the most simple daily tasks?

My orders, my requests and any other hint of a suggestion of her doing something that might please me, seem to float around her head, never quite making contact with her ears. Usually, it’s only when I SHOUT or SCREAM that she eventually acknowledges that my voice HAS in fact been sending massive soundwaves in her direction.

She’s just chosen NOT to surf them. πŸ˜‚

And even when she finally acknowledges that I’ve asked her to do something, she still finds 162 ways to procrastinate or forget or simply not be able to do it.

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Mini-Me I am not going to ask you again…”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?!” (Add eye roll or exasperated sigh for effect.)

“I’ve asked you to Put on your Pjs. Get them on right now.”

“But where ARE they?” (Still watching Tellybox/making jigsaw/rolling on the floor etc…)

“Wherever you left them. Now go put them on!”😑

“But…” insert random WTF-inducing excuse/problem/comment here.

“PUT ON YOUR PJS NOOOOOOOOOOW!” Screaming BansheeMammy appears.

“Okay! Okay!” Stomps down hall, muttering something about “no need to shout”. (Little twatsickle.)

Mammy sighs in deluded, false victory, before being interrupted by “MAMMEEEEEEE. I can’t FIND them!” or some other shite like that, then stomps down hall, muttering and swearing to find her standing right in FRONT of the fucking Pajamas, which are the ONLY thing lying on the floor, but which are seemingly fucking INVISIBLE to my daughter.

Cue scolding, fighting, retaliation, defiance, huffing, puffing, threatening, snarling, crying and Mammy eventually putting the fecking things ON HER. (It’s that or throw them AT HER. Bad Mammy. No! Terrible thoughts Mammy.)

Different night, same old shite. Until tonight. Tonight, Mammy is a genius. The requesting, finding and putting ON of the fecking PJs took a whole 1 MINUTE AND 37 SECONDS.

I SHIT YOU NOT.

Why?

Because as I was about to ask her for the first time to “Put on your Pjs please Darling”, I opened the cupboard and spotted thisπŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡ and I had a brainwave.

“Oooooh look what Mammy found! I know, let’s have a race!” (Singsongy voice, think Mary-of-the-poppins.) “I’m going to time you to see how quickly you can put on ypu Pjs. Will we see what number we can get?”

“Yay! I LOVE races!”

“On your marks, get set…GO!” And I swear to God, she slid sideways back into the kitchen, fully dressed in her fricken PJs, a whole minute and a half later…

“Did I beat it?” (Not sure what she’s beating, but when it stops me wanting to beat my head off a brick wall, I’ll roll with it! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚)

“Of course you did, you are AMAZING!” And it was.

Amazing.

And I am a genius.

And I will try it again tomorrow night, but she’ll probably have copped on to me by then.

Ah well, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚ How was your day? 😘😘😘

I am So THAT’s my Baby Mum!

​Every day, I get to know my minions better.
I am waiting patiently to understand them.  I may wait on by the look of things.
Mini-Me ADORED these books πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡ when she was younger.  We have most of them, still perfect condition, despite having been read 12 times a day for about 18 months.


Today, I learned something about her…

She is a gentle little lady, who despite having the temper of her mother and the patience of…well, her mother, is quite the delicate flower who looks after her stuff quite well.  
Especially books.
How did I learn this? 

WELL, I found this book today and decided to introduce Princess to our tradition.

And within 5 minutes, the pristine and perfect book looked like THIS. πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡


Mini-Me used to turn the pages gently and point sweetly at the “wee mouse” and cheep at the “wee birdies”.  She’d tentatively touch the sensory sections and her mind would flourish poetically and grow beautifully before my very eyes… πŸ’–πŸ’–
Princess ripped the fecking book in bits… like the Hulk that she is…and banged it REPEATEDLY off the floor until she managed to bust the binding.  

5 minutes.

Rambo.
However, never one to dwell on the negative I have decided to perceive her reaction that she TOO was developing her sensory skills.  Her taste for reading can not be disputed either as she has tried many times to EAT the fecking book.  Not only do these books nourish the mind, they are great teethers too apparently.
And so there you go.  These little books do not ONLY educate and encourage and stimulate the minds of our minions, they can also teach Mammies the differences in the personalities of her two little darlings. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

I am So Eating the Chocolate Mum

​Sweet Jebus.
“Mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum MUM MUM MUM  MUM MUM.”
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?”
Insert random, usually COMPLETELY sporadic and unplanned question or statement here.

She doesn’t even have anything of importance to say.

She doesn’t CARE that she hasn’t even thought of what she’s about to say before she starts the 

“Mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum MUM MUM MUM  MUM MUM.” 

The only two things she knows at that moment are:

1. Mammy has started to talk to someo6else.

2. Mammy must NOT talk to someone else while I am in the room.
It’s exhausting.

And sometimes, depending on WHO mammy is DARING to have a conversation with, it’s ridiculously embarrassing.
I can handle a class of 28 teenagers, but I have NO CONTROL over a 4 & 3/4-er…

Shoot me now…
The two pictures below, top and tail the evening I’ve just had with my Mini-Me.
The first picture is about 44 minutes before THE BEDTIME FROM HELL that has lead to #operationskinnyarse being thrown THE FECK out the window, just for tonight. (Image 2…not cropped to hide grapejuice.)πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‰


The lovely Samantha @nappiesandlattes brought her this lovely Princess Bubbles last night. (non-alcoholic of course, although I would seriously consider throwing some gin into it right now…)
She ate all of her dinner, even AFTER a birthday party so The Him popped it, making a nice wee fuss over her and giving us a really sweet Mummy and Mini-Me moment.
 45 minutes later, both of us are screaming, both of us are in tears and BOTH of us are ready to freak the hell out.

Why!?

Because BOTH of us THINK we’re the alpha female of the group and BOTH of us need to learn to calm the feck down.

We’re as bad as each other and I have no one to blame but myself…and of course The Him.  Because she has HIS temper… she OBVIOUSLY doesn’t get her headstrong stubborness from me now does she?

All Him.πŸ˜€
And so now, it’s finally quiet, I had a good old telemobile rant at my Buddy “Rainbow” and The Him bought me a bar of chocolate.

NEVER underestimate the power of dialling a number to another Mammy Bear. You can say ANYTHING and swear as MUCH AS YOU LIKE, and they’ll just sit on the other end of the line nodding their heads and agreeing with you and saying things like “Mmmmhmmmmm” and  “Oh I hear ya!” and so you don’t fell quite so shittiful or USELESS as a parent.
So there.

That is how quickly things can escalate, or indeed disintegrate when you have a tired Mammy and a tired Minion in a room.  

The smiles in the first picture are real, but so are the tears.

I just don’t have a picture of those.
And the chocolate bar is also real, so Over and out Bitcheepooos!
I have some slabbering to do… 😘😘😘