I am Starving the Minions Mum

Is Mammy the ONLY Mammy whose minions spend the entire day either with their nappies sticking out of the fridge, or raiding through the cupboards?

This Fudgemonster currently eats 12 meals a day, not counting snacks hidden in secret stashes or cereal eaten off the floor. This was taken 20 minutes after her SECOND breakfast this morning. ๐Ÿ˜‚

I’ve had to take the safety lock OFF the press which contains the bleach and chemicals. It is now on the fridge…

And it seems that there is a limbo or vortex of some sort between our house and next door. No matter how much they eat here, from the second they walk through the door of Granny’s, they EAT. Not only do they eat, they actually BEG. They whine as if they’re STARVING and scobe the food offered into them so fast, that the Grandparents most certainly exchange eyebrow raises over their starved little heads and genuinely wonder if I actually feed them AT ALL over in the torture pit of child hell that is my own house.

Poor unfed, unloved minions. Bad Mammy who never feed them. ๐Ÿ˜‚

So now, with them going back to school and playschool for 5 full days a week, my biggest fear is NOT how they’ll adapt, or settle in, or survive without me… nope. I am seriously concerned that they won’t manage to ONLY eat at breaktimes and lunchtimes. I fear that they shall fade away without the constant drip of food from my poor, knackered cupboards. I expect the childcare facility to send me extra bills for all the EXTRA food that this doll will insist on eating every day.

I wonder if I should smuggle in some extra snacks in their bags? ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

I am Song Lyrics Mum

Anyone else not really pay attention to song lyrics?

I like to make up my own.
Whatever words I sing the FIRST time I sing along to a song, tends to BECOME the lyrics forever more.
You should hear my version of Desposita…FAAAAAAR superior to Justin Dweeber. ๐Ÿ˜‚

But it seems that Mini-Me has adopted my poetic lyrical license habit…as I found out IN THE MIDDLE OF A SHOP today when Uptown Funk came on.

We were giving it welly for the “Girls singit alleluia OOOOOH! Girls singit alleluia OOOOOH! Girls singit alleluia OOOOOH… ” , even stopping to raise our hands for the OOOOH! much to the delight of Princess in the trolley.
People were watching.

We didn’t care… we were having fun and getting our funky donkey on to a WICKED tune, until I heard Mini-Me GO FOR IT with the next line…

“COZ FUCK TOWN UP GONNA GIBITAYA,
COZ FUCK TOWN UP GONNA GIBITAYA,
SATIDY NIGHT ANAMINDA ZAW
DON’T BELIEVE ME JUST WATCH!”

…At the top of her voice, before finishing up with a Michael Jacksonesque pose…

I didn’t know whether to applaud or DIE! Usually I don’t correct her cuteyisms, but I reckon this one MIGHT be better rectified, don’t you? ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

In other news, it’s The Him’s birthday.

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The girlies had a lovely evening with their Daddy and now, it’s Bubbles o’clock.

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He does get quite the battering on here, the poor thing, ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚so hit him with some Birthday lurve Ladies. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜™

Oh and feel free to share YOUR favourite lyrical faux pas with me. ๐Ÿ˜˜

 

I am Some Fruit and Cake Mum

What a FABLIS and slightly smug Mammy I am.
See picture 1. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡

My minions are eating fruit.  Like, REAL fruit. Fresh and actual fruit.  ๐Ÿ‰๐ŸŒ๐Ÿ…๐Ÿ“๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ๐ŸŒAnd what’s MOST impressive is that they ASKED Granny for it… themselves.  Yes. Eating fruit. Voluntarily and happily, on top of their very impressed Uncle Brian, after eating ALL of their respective dinners.
Proud Mammy.

Good Mammy. 
“Ooooooh” I hear you gasp in awe, “How did you get them to eat all of their dinners S-Mum, you Wonderwoman Extraordinaire?” 
Well, the trick is in the second photograph. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡ ๐Ÿ˜†๐Ÿ˜† 


Cake.
They knew that if they didn’t eat all of their dinner, they wouldn’t be allowed any of the MAHOOOOOOOSIVE eleventy billion layered, schawipple-chocolate, monstrous birthday cake that Clever Mammy sneakily Showed Them BEFORE dinner! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
Yes. 

Clever Mammy.

Bad Mammy.

Good Mammy… etc etc…
And so the fruit was requested yes, but about 90 minutes AFTER they’d come down from the sugar high induced by the chocolate cake! 

But still.
They ate fruit. 
And they also ate chocolate cake.
Now, if I were a Sanctimammy, I would ONLY have posted photograph 1. You know? To show how “perfect” and on top of this parenting shit I am.
But I am not perfect. 

I like my kids to eat fruit. (Real fruit ๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜…)
But Golly do I also enjoy the looks on their wee faces when Granny tells them to go ahead and stick all of their fingers into a big chocolate cake!
And now, I’m going to ring the Birthday Boy and tell him to drop me over another slice before the salivating ruins my screen here… ๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜…
Happy “No uniforms Sunday” Bitches. 
(Mammy’s turn for fruit now. ๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜)

#nocapsulesaroundhere #realfruitonly #letthemeatcake

PS.  If you have the tellybox on, stick it over to #OneLoveManchester I’m notnsure who many of these people are, but what a show so far. And if THAT is who our little girls aspire to, I’m happy.) ๐Ÿ’—๐Ÿ’—

I am Slightly Grumpy Mum

โ€‹Well the Princess has found two things this morning…

1. Her temper

2. Her voice.
She has just spent 21 minutes shouting defiance and protest at being put down for her nap.  She was so completely knackered but we have to give her credit for her determination and stubborness.  It was like getting that one friend who claims they’re “not dhrunk” to lie down and go to sleep.  She is currently collapsed in a heap in the cot, bum in the air, face planted on the drool soaked mattress. 

Headstrong stubborn little fart.

She’s so like The Him.๐Ÿ‘ค๐Ÿ˜‚
Meanwhile, in the peaceful and quiet kitchen, the red lights on the screaming moniter have desisted, I am FINALLY eating breakfast and Mini-Me is earning her keep by sorting through the bottomless underwear box. Have to teach them values and responsibilities don’t we? (It has NOTHING to do with the fact that I HATE THAT JOB!)

She is fablis. ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–


The Him๐Ÿ‘ค has buggered off to town to buy himself a new right arm.  His old one broke yesterday.

Its screen has decided to go to an eternal sleep and so his access to the virtual reality that he needs so badly is gone.  So it’s off to “RightArm Warehouse” with him so that the pain subsides and the colour returns to his ashen, sickly face. ๐Ÿ˜ก

After watching him try in vain for 2 hours to revive my old banished i-phone, I eventually screamed at him to go buy a new fricken right arm before I shoved one of the right arms he had dismantled somewhere unspeakable, where it would get even more broken than it already is. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก

If only health insurance covered the loss of one’s right arm…

I had plans to do lots of fun stuff today, but my brain or wardrobe weren’t quite prepared for FECKIN NOVEMBER, so I’m refusing point blank to leave the house.

Instead, I’m going to have a relaxing day at home.๐Ÿ–๐Ÿท๐Ÿ˜‚

Yeah.

Relaxing my arse. 

The washing basket is puking in the corner and I need to find the floor in our bedroom, because it’s gone missing.
If any of my dear not-just-FB-friends fancy calling for coffee, feel free…but don’t bother unless you bring chocolate.

 Or cake.

Or chocolate cake. ๐ŸŽ‚๐Ÿฉ๐Ÿฐ

(See how Mammy knows that it’s WAAAAAY too early for grape-juice? Clever Mammy.)
I might be a grumpy cow ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿฎtoday… do I sound grumpy?๐Ÿ˜‚

Might need more coffee… ๐Ÿ˜ช๐Ÿ˜ช๐Ÿ˜ช

I am SeelaSalaaCassello-Mum!

“SeelaSalaaCassello
SeelaSalaaCassello
SeelaSalaaCasselloooooooo
And so say all of us!”

This is what Mini-Me sings EVERY time she finishes singing “Happy Beffday”.
It’s completely ridiculous, but so cute that I don’t have the heart to correct her.  In fact, on Friday last, while her Aunty blew out her candles, everyone started to sing Mini-Me’s version of the song.  I have a feeling that it will be one of those things that will haunt her into adulthood.

And it got me thinking.  Why do we automatically correct some mistakes, while accepting others?
Why do I think it’s okay for her to change the entire lyric of a song, but yet when she says “Where is her?”, I immediately correct her with “Where is she!”?

It’s not like my own speech is perfect.
I sometimes talk really quickly.
Like, really quickly.
Or so I’m told.

I’m always aware that I need to slow down, especially if I’m speaking to someone new.
It can be full speed ahead, to the point that if you’re not from lovely Donegal, there’s a good chance that you’re smiling politely at me, but you’ve no idea what I’m saying.

Why do I do this?
I have no idea.

I do make an effort to slow down obviously, but if I’m nervous or excited, I speed up dramatically.
If I’m excited and I’ve had coffee, I go to superspeed.
If I’m excited and I’ve had wine, well you had better buckle up and try to keep up!

As an English teacher, I am constantly aware of the mistakes that we make in our everyday speech.  Indeed, outside of the classroom, I am happily able to slip into the colloquial dialect of my hometown.   I don’t apologise for it.

I’m am however, that person who is silently correcting your grammar.  I don’t mean any harm.  It’s my job I suppose.

When people mispronounce words, I cringe.  (I had a meeting once with a lovely lady who loved the word “specific”, but who pronounced it “pacific”.)
When my students make the (very Donegal)  mistake of “I seen him down the town,” I have been known to start singing “See-Saw, See-Saw, See-Saw!!!!!” at them.

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I want to throw people who like, say “like”, like a lot, out the like window.

So of course I try to teach my own girls to speak properly.

I find myself using the phrases “Slow down” or “Let me hear your words please” with Mini-Me quite frequently of late.

Her speech is generally very good.  It’s never been a cause for concern for me.
She drives my brother crazy saying “Lellow“.  He once spent 20 minutes teaching her “Ye-Ye-Yellow.”  She proudly ended the lesson with “Ye-Ye-Lellow!”
Everything is “Bery” good and she wears a “best” instead of a vest.
I don’t stress.  She’s three… (or free!).

She lost her first tooth last week and for a few days, her newly acquired lisp provided great entertainment to the adults in her life.  Of course, we didn’t make her aware of the humour she was providing to us, but we had a little chuckle at the cuteness among ourselves.  It passed after only a few days.

But it got me thinking.
Over the past week, I’ve found myself paying attention to the little words she mispronounces or gets completely wrong.  And where I would usually automatically say the word correctly to her straight away, I’m trying to remember them.
She’s growing up so quickly and as she proceeds through the school system, those little mistakes will be rectified by her well-intentioned teachers.

Instead, when she announces that she wants another “escapode” of Peppa Pig, I smile and enjoy the fact that she’s can even try to say that word!

And for now, when she has the confidence to stand in front of a room full of people and sing “Seeeela Saalla Casello!” At the top of her voice, I let her.
(How “She’s a jolly good fellow” became “Seeeela Saalla Casello!”, I will never know).
But it is hilarious. It’s cute. It won’t last forever.

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(Sometimes however,  we must correct.
Like yesterday when she bumped her elbow and screamed “You hurt my Booobeeeee!”, I HAD to correct her.
I’m not even going to try to understand how she got those two particular body parts mixed up, but she did.)

Because she’s three.
And for  “Seeeela Saalla Casello!” And so say all of us!

I am  “SeeeelaSaallaCasello-Mum”. ๐Ÿ˜…

Follow S-Mum on Facebook  https://m.facebook.com/Secretsofsmum/
Or on Twitter @Maria_Rushe

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I am so mortified Mum

This weekend, I met my threenager. ย A work colleague kindly gave me this word on Monday when I mentioned by utter exasperation at Mini-Me’s constant whining and tantrums. It’s perfect. ย Attitude, huffing, stomping, screaming and absolute defiance; and all quite out of character. ย Thankfully, it seems to have passed and so I’ll happily attribute her shenanigans to her Daddy being away on business for the weekend as opposed to the beginning of a long-term hatred of Mammy.

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Thankfully however, even in the midst of her strops and screeches, she still managed to surprise me. ย We were in a local supermarket on Sunday. ย I’d like to paint a picture of calm and relaxation; you know where I hum happily as I push her around in the trolley and she sweetly impresses other shoppers by asking for oranges and singing at the top of her voice. ย But no.

True to the form of the weekend, Madam refused to get into the trolley, insisting that she push the bloody thing even though she can hardly reach the handle. ย By the time we got to the fruit aisle, (aisle 2), she had thrown two full blown tantrums; one over the pushing of the trolley, and one because she “neeeeeeeed buns!”

So when we moved into the next aisle and she seemed happier, (probably because she was holdingย said buns as if they were the last buns in the shop), I breathed a sigh of relief and carried on. ย And then it happened.

A young man was stacking shelves. ย He was bent forward over the onions, minding his own business, doing his job. ย I had started humming, happy that all was calm again. ย And then my adorable, innocent, (mostly) pleasant daughter lifted her little hand and slapped him square on the arse, shouting “Woooohoooooo!!” as she did so…

I…was…mort…i..fied!

Tell me. ย What the hell does one do when their toddler assaults a stranger while they work? ย The victim jumped up, dropped his onions and looked around to see a wee toot grinning up at him, proud as punch of her self! He looked at me with shock on his face.

And then he laughed. ย Thank the Lord Jesus and the baby donkey, he laughed.

Mammy on the other hand, turned 50 shades of scarlet and made a futile attempt at scolding Mini-Me while apologizing profusely. ย “It’s fine!” he said. “I have a wee rascal at home myself.” And with that statement, all was right with the world.

I apologized again, grabbed the bun-free hand and dragged her off. ย She was absolutely oblivious to my mortification and sang her way around the rest of the shop.

By the time I got the frozen food, I had resumed my normal pallor. ย And then I started to laugh. ย It wasn’t just the slap. ย It was the “Wooohooo”. ย I don’t even know where or how or why she thought to do it. ย I explained to her that we don’t slap people and all I can do is hope that it doesn’t happen again.

“I like buns” she replied to me.

Seriously…

I am So mortified Mum

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