I am Suffering Mum

Notes to Mammy…

1. Mammy is not 20.
2. Mammy can NOT drink whatever is set in front of her.
3. Mammy + mixing drinkiepoos = bad idea…ALWAYS.
4. Mammy SHOULD know better.
5. The first time Mammy thinks that maybe she’s had way more than enough and PROBABLY should go home, she should. She is right.
6. Mammy should not jive with ANYONE, especially if they are considerably shorter than her heeled self.
7. Mammy must remember that while a good big meal is a good idea before supping beverages, supping beverages before and DURING said meal, defeats the fricken purpose.
8. Mammy is NOT a feckin Pussy Cat Doll and should therefore not “Shake it off” or “drop like it’s hot” or any other such teenage nonsense
9. Mammy should only partake in Saturday nights out IF she has all of the uniforms ready for Monday, house sorted and general shot together BEFORE she goes out.
10. Mammy should remember that just because she is dying a death, Mini-Me still talks ALL DAY and Princess still POOS frequently.
11. Mammy should not watch an All Ireland Final the next day…
12. Mammy must also remember that while The Him is very kind and allows her to die a little inside, he will also take every opportunity to laugh at her, torture her and remind her of point number 1…

#neveragain #untilnexttime #fml #gettingtoooldforthisshit #gincident #greatnight #notsogreattoday

I am She’s Punishing Me Mum

Smile and Nod.
Mammy must smile and nodโ€ฆ
Mammy is very good at the smiling and the nodding. ๐Ÿ˜†๐Ÿ˜ถ

โ€œSheโ€™s the best girl. Thereโ€™s not a bother with her.โ€ ๐Ÿ’•

Every day I hear this. And the lovely Ladybelles who say it, mean it 100%.โค
And I smile and I nod and I agree, but as I do, my inner Mammy voice is laughing.
She is laughing hard.
So very hard.

On the outside, I Smile and Nodโ€ฆ
What Iโ€™m THINKING however, is “Let me tell you, as a Mammy with previous experience of a โ€œStreet Angel, House Devilโ€, that while she is indeed being ‘the Best Girl’ and giving you ‘Not a bother’ here all day, she is simply saving all of her energy for the Wilderbeastial Demonic Darling that she will morph into when I get her into the car.” ๐Ÿ˜ˆ

It begins with her luring Mammy into a false sense of security with her displays of excitement as she runs into my arms when I arrive to collect her. Cue โ€œOoooooohsโ€ and โ€œAaaaaaaahsโ€ from all with ovaries in the room. She hugs and kisses and answers โ€œUhhuuuuuโ€ in her adorable little husky voice as I carry her little Koala Bear Butt ๐Ÿจto the car. I breathe her in and sniff her sticky hair and coo at her, knowing full well that I may enjoy it while it lasts. ๐Ÿ˜‚

Once in the car (maybe even before I get her strapped in if sheโ€™s feeling particularly thick with Mammy), her demeanour changes. Sometimes, itโ€™s gradual, building up as we approach home, revving up with every gear change. Sometimes itโ€™s instantaneous, spontaneous combustion because Iโ€™ve looked at her wrong, or asked her a question, or you know, breathed.

It escalates with a simple โ€œNoโ€.
Not just an utterance of negativity or disagreement. A proper, teenage โ€œNOโ€, complete with attitude and challenge. When the โ€œNOโ€ is accompanied by the furrow of the brows, we know we are entering the beginning of the tantrum. ๐Ÿ˜ฃ

By the time we reach home, my excitement at the thought of an evening at home with my Baby has been replaced by a devastation of the reality that ONCE AGAIN, I have NO control over the moods of my minion. Any notions I had of a picture perfect evening of #Mammywins have been left at the creche. And once again I remember, that I have NO idea what the hell I am doing.
I am winging this Mammy craic, 100fricken%. Iโ€™m scrambling my brain for tricks and clever Mammyisms that might avert the direction of the storm that is brewing in the back seat.

I throw promises around like a Politician before an Election.
โ€œWeโ€™re going to have pizza for tea!โ€
โ€œNO!โ€
โ€œWill we play jigsaws when we get home?โ€
โ€œNO!โ€
โ€œI canโ€™t wait to get snuggles when we get home!โ€
โ€œNO!โ€
and eventually (yes always) โ€œWill we watch Peppa?โ€
(Hold breathโ€ฆ)

Princess โ€œYEEEEEEAH!โ€
Mini-Me โ€œAw Maaaaaaaaaammy, not again!โ€ (insert eye roll here)
Me โ€œFMLโ€ (Probably under my breath. Maybeโ€ฆ Maybe SLIGHTLY audible. Bad Mammy.)๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜‚

Parenting experts and friends with kids have explained to me many times in the past, that such behaviour is normal and that the child acting in such a manner is a โ€œcomplimentโ€ because she feels that she can finally release her frustrations and confusion at the world, in the arms of her favourite person. That I am her safe place and that it all means that she loves me.๐Ÿ˜ถ

SOME days, I buy this. Other days, I prefer to see it that she is a little wagon who actually HATES me and is determined to PUNISH her evil Mammy for abandoning her cute, bad-tempered little fudgeybutt to go to work. She sees me coming, smells the Mammy-guilt off me. After her initial โ€œOh thereโ€™s my Mammyโ€ excitement, her mind goes straight to โ€œHang on a second. WHERE do you think YOU were all day Woman? Did you DARE to drink warm coffee and have adult conversations? Do you not know that YOU ARE MY SLAVE?โ€ ๐Ÿ˜

She has to fit 8 hours of reminding Mammy who is the BOSS, into a very short evening. And she must make sure that Mammy PAYS for leaving her at the Fablis and fun-filled creche, where she spends her days being loved and played with and fed and stimulated without the tellybox, and where she is the โ€œbest girlโ€ and gives them all โ€œnot a botherโ€. She nevers bites or screams NOoooooooooooooo or kicks or throws custard or cries or scratches the lovely girls.

No,
She saves that for Mammy Bear.
Because she loves me and I am special.
And apparently because I am her safe place. ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜†

Right now, she is playing with sudocrem…but she’s no longer screeching at me, so we’ll roll with it.

Smiles and nods. ๐Ÿ˜™

#fml
#mammyguilt
#yessheistheboss

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. ๐Ÿ˜›๐Ÿ˜›)
But The Him was well rested. ๐Ÿ˜ 
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…” ๐Ÿ˜…
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.”๐Ÿ˜‚

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?๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ 
“She’ll go back to sleep beside us” he explains.
Will she indeed?
Will she FECK! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

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. ๐Ÿ˜› 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.๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ 

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). ๐Ÿ˜…

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. ๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜ 
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/EmilyRose๐Ÿ˜ˆ 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?๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

How was your day?

I am So in the Doghouse Mum

Mammy is in the dog house.

This morning, Princess hung off my neck, suspicious of the proper clothes Mammy was wearing. She took one look at my outfit and muckuped face and refused point blank to be removed from my trunk. The Him eventually pried the little fart off me. Think starfish stuck to the side of a fish tank… every time he peeled one limb from my neck, the other one suctioned itself back on. It took physical force and bribery with banana and Peppa Pig to get her off me long enough for me to find a shoe which was NOT a trainer, to match my not-a-tracksuit outfit. ๐Ÿ˜‚

I dropped her to playschool, quite a bit more calm and relaxed than I had envisioned if I’m honest. And then I toddled off to my other job. I rather enjoyed the uninterrupted conversation and absence of Mr Feckin Tumble for a few hours and then drove happily home, excited to see my little cherubs.

Mammy was certain that after this morning’s displays of affection, that my Darlings would be DELIGHTED to welcome me home. They would run into my arms, unanimously squealing “Welcome home Mammy Darling!” and “Oh how we MISSED you.”

“Oh what a twat you are Mammy” more like… ๐Ÿ˜…

Mini-Me DID declare her general satisfaction that I had arrived home, until she remembered that my return meant HER REMOVAL from Granny Dearest’s, so she decided to put on her Wench-from-hell persona until bedtime. Princess? She IGNORED me. She IGNORED and SHUNNED me, to the point that EVERYONE in Granny Dearest’s got hugs and full-on mouth slabber kisses… everyone EXCEPT MAMMY. Mammy got run past, hissed at and glared at. Oh and did I mention, IGNORED?

This ๐Ÿ‘†๐Ÿ‘†๐Ÿ‘† is what I saw everytime I spoke to her this evening. She only forgot she was ignoring me at bedtime when she realised that the only thing between her and her milk, was Mammy. She begrudgingly climbed up on my knee and drank her milk.

Then JUST to ensure that I didn’t mistake her sitting on my knee as weakness or forgiveness, she looked up at me and proceeded to tip the end of the glass of milk onto the floor, watching me the whole time with one little half-grown eyebrow raised. “Go ahead and scold me then woman.

Just you TRY it” taunted the other eyebrow. ๐Ÿ˜ˆ

Wagon.๐Ÿ˜‚

So there. I spent quite a portion of today fighting the Mammy Guilt of having abandoned my poor helpless children… And the other portion being beautifully punished for it. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

How was your day? Any school starting Mammies? How did you get on/How are you feeling? ๐Ÿ˜™๐Ÿ˜™๐Ÿ˜™

I am Such a GENIUS Mum ๐Ÿ˜˜

Mammy is a genius.

A feckin genius I tell you.

As Mini-Meโ€™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. ๐Ÿ˜‚

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!”๐Ÿ˜ก

“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 this๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡ 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! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚)

“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. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚ How was your day? ๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜