I am She’s Punishing Me Mum

Smile and Nod.
Mammy must smile and nod…
Mammy is very good at the smiling and the nodding. 😆😶

“She’s the best girl. There’s not a bother with her.” 💕

Every day I hear this. And the lovely Ladybelles who say it, mean it 100%.❤
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 Nod…
What I’m THINKING however, is “Let me tell you, as a Mammy with previous experience of a “Street Angel, House Devil”, 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.” 😈

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 “Ooooooohs” and “Aaaaaaaahs” from all with ovaries in the room. She hugs and kisses and answers “Uhhuuuuu” in her adorable little husky voice as I carry her little Koala Bear Butt 🐨to 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. 😂

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

It escalates with a simple “No”.
Not just an utterance of negativity or disagreement. A proper, teenage “NO”, complete with attitude and challenge. When the “NO” is accompanied by the furrow of the brows, we know we are entering the beginning of the tantrum. 😣

By the time we reach home, my excitement at the thought of an evening at home with my Baby has been replaced by a devastation of the reality that ONCE AGAIN, I have NO control over the moods of my minion.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%. I’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.
“We’re going to have pizza for tea!”
“NO!”
“Will we play jigsaws when we get home?”
“NO!”
“I can’t wait to get snuggles when we get home!”
“NO!”
and eventually (yes always) “Will we watch Peppa?”
(Hold breath…)

Princess “YEEEEEEAH!”
Mini-Me “Aw Maaaaaaaaaammy, not again!” (insert eye roll here)
Me “FML” (Probably under my breath. Maybe… Maybe SLIGHTLY audible. Bad Mammy.)😐😂

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 “compliment” 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.😶

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 “Oh there’s my Mammy” excitement, her mind goes straight to “Hang 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?” 😐

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 “best girl” and gives them all “not a bother”. 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. 😍😆

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

Smiles and nods. 😙

#fml
#mammyguilt
#yessheistheboss

I am Such a Royal No-No Mum

(Today’s Thoroughly Modern Mammy column
“When are you going again?”
The Royal NO NO!)

So the royal family are expecting another Baby.
Good for them.


I’m as happy for Kate as I would be to hear of ANY pregnancy, but Holy Gemima, if I see ONE more headline or comment about how she’s “completing her family” or she’s now got “the magic number”, I shall scream.

Now, of course as an international celebrity, she will have every moment of her pregnancy and birth and life scrutinized and spread over the interweb and newspapers. That’s part of the job she signed up to isn’t it? And I don’t mind the reports of her pregnancy. It IS a matter of interest to our neighbours in the UK, and I’ll bet the Fashion bloggers and maternity shops are rubbing their hands in glee at the guaranteed content for the foreseeable future.

But like all things Mammy related, people are far too quick to jump to assumptions and conclusions, assuming to know inside information and writing anything to gain clicks and sales. To the journalists who wrote such rubbish as “Her family will be complete” and “Three is the magic number”, I ask some questions.

Will it really? Will her family REALLY be complete with 3 kids? Says who? How do you know that she will only have one more child? How can you guarantee that this little child will even be born? How do you know that she isn’t carrying twins? How will you cash in on this theory is suddenly her magic number is 4!? How do you know that she planned this one? For all you know, little Prince/Princess was a little heart attack for poor Willy and Lovely Kate.

Such statements and assumptions beg other questions too.

Why do people insist on telling you that you should “be going again” or “getting a move on”?
Why do people think it’s OK to assume that everyone wants to have more Babies? Or actually, even A baby for that matter.
Why, oh WHY, do people think that it’s OK to ASK why a couple aren’t “going for number 3, or 4, or 8?

Here are 6 reasons to NOT comment on a couple’s NON pregnant state:
1. It’s none of your business.

2. You don’t know their situation. You don’t know if they’ve had a miscarriage recently. People don’t generally go around announcing that do they? In fact, we good Irish still fall into the trap of thinking that we aren’t allowed to tell anyone until the sacred 12 week mark, and so when things go wrong, couples often have no one to share their grief or help them through it.

3. 1 in 6 Irish couples currently struggle with fertility. How do you know if the person you are innocently teasing about “going for another one” or “getting a move on” isn’t one of those couples? You don’t know if they’re trying everything and being constantly heartbroken. You don’t know if she’s injecting herself to try to help matters. You don’t know if he’s struggling with the fact that his sperm count is low. You don’t know if they’ve put every penny they have (and don’t have) into rounds of treatment, over and over again. You don’t.

4. Not EVERY couple WANTS to have a baby, or another Baby. For their own reasons. That they don’t have to explain to you.

5. Maybe that couple are in the process of adoption, or surrogacy. Maybe that couple are at breaking point, physically and emotionally and maybe…

6. …it’s NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!

Of course people mean no harm when we joke about “filling that big house” or “getting them a wee brother”, but like all things Parent related, innocent comments and harmless questions can cut through people like a bolt of lightning. We shouldn’t comment. End of.

So when the headlines tell us that because the Princess, (or Duchess or whatever she is), is now perfect because she’s having another child, we should try not to let them convince us that what they think is perfect, is right.
Because it’s not. YOU know what is right for YOUR family.

I like Kate’s style and her hair and her shoes… but will I be following suit and having number 3 to make my family “perfect” or “complete”?
Eh, no.
We’re “practically perfect in every way” already thank you very much, not that it’s anyone’s business! 😂

I am So we went to Specsavers Mum

Evening Ladybelles.
Nothing overly entertaining or funniful tonight, but I do want to share a quick post about Mini-Me’s first trip to the opticians with you.

So last May, her school flagged that she might have a vision porblem and would be refered for further testing. Over the summer, I noticed all the wee signs that I remember showing myself when my eyes went fuzzy when I was 6; she was squinting more and more frequently and moving closer and closer to the telly.

So with her going back to school, we decided to go ahead and take her to Specsavers to get checked out.

(Why did I not wait? Well, interesting story…The fact that I was refered to the HSE for orthodontic treatment for a mouth akin to a saber-toothed vampire 28 years ago and am STILL waiting on treatment might ecplain my lack of faith in the system. 😂The last communication I got from them was in 1995 asking for a voluntary donation to move me up the list. They’re still waiting for the donation and I’m still waiting for the treatment. What a surprise they’d get if they saw my mouth now! One visit to the dentist when I started Universiry in Coleraine and I had traintracks on within 48 hours. For FREE. 😆

Anyway, we decided to go to the Specsavers in Letterkenny. I’ve been hauling my nearly-blind butt in there every year FOREVER, and I can only say that they are AMAZING.

Bringing Mini-Me was emotional for me. I knew in my heart before we arrived that she needed glasses, and while there is NOTHING wrong with this, having worn glasses myself for my whole childhood, it makes me sad that she needs them. Granted, the cute and fashionable styes available now are NOTHING like the Deirdre Barlowesque Jam jars that I wore! 👓🤓

From the second we arrived, the staff were brilliant with her. She was seen by John who had the patience of a Saint. He was so thorough and so kind to her and even managed to put drops into BOTH eyes. (I can barely get a plaster on her knee.😂) Then we met Hazel who was just wonderful, chatting away to her and putting her at ease. We were helped to chose frames by Ingrida who was so professional and honest, telling us in no uncertain terms what shape and style she needed and why. We were fitted and helped more by Kirsty, who had Mini-Me eating out of her hand and quickly picked up on what I was trying to steer her away from. (Master manipulator. Very impressed!😍)

We chose a lovely wee pair of Frozen glasses and collected them…wait for it… 3 hours later! (My own will take a week as they need to be stepped on by pixies, danced upone by leprachauns and sliced with unicorn thread to get them to fit the frames, unless I want to walk around with frames 5 inches thick! 😛😂😛😂)

And so off she trotted to school today with her wee glasses. The test cost €30, which for this anxious Mammy was worth every penny. I have always hoped the girls would get The Him’s eyesight. Turns out, Mini-Me is more “Mini Me” than I thought.

I can’t recommend Specsavers highly enough. Over the years, their services have been improving and becoming more and more thorough and impressive. I’m sure there are many wonderful opticians in town, but I just wanted to share this with any Mammy who is worried about their minions and wondering where to take them.

And thank you to John and the team in Specsavers on the Port Road. You’ve made what was a pretty crap thing for me to have to do, into some lovely memories.

#specsavers #milestones

I am Stupid Tooth Fairy Mum

So Mini-Me lost a tooth yesterday.😛

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!😂😂)
“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 👇👇👇 with a large capri-sun.

How was your week Beautiful?
Any fun for me?

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. 😂

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… 😅

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 👆👆👆 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. 😈

Wagon.😂

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. 😂😂

How was your day? Any school starting Mammies? How did you get on/How are you feeling? 😙😙😙

I am “So it’s Results Day” Mum

Although it is many moons ago, Mammy remembers getting her Leaving Cert Results.

Mammy was certain that the contents of the little brown envelope were going to change her life. Had Mammy’s life REALLY depended on the contents of that little brown envelope, quite frankly, I’d be living an utterly dreadful, mediocre and half-arsed attempt at one. 😂

Because the results printed on my little scrap of yellow paper were quite awful, if I’m very honest. The only mark I remember (or tell anyone about!) was my A1 in Honours English. Go figure. As for the rest of them? I’d say the examiners only passed me so that they wouldn’t have to read my verbal diahorrea again the following year. 😂I’m not exaggerating either.

But the other grades didn’t matter. The A in English was all that mattered to me, both then AND today. Yes, I got into college, but not until I had spent a week back in the brown uniform 😣😣 convincing myself that I needed to repeat. It wasn’t until the second round offers and a trip to meet (attack😛) the Dean of the English Department in Coleraine, that I finally got my place on the degree course. (I might have only been 17, but I was a stroppy one!😂)

English was all I loved. It was all that I wanted to study and, as the little brown envelope told me, it was apparently all that I was good at… All that I was good at THEN. At 17. Turns out, I’m good at a whole load of things. I just didn’t get to take exams in singing, dancing, shopping or eating. The Big LC recognised my ability to understand Shakespeare and write stories off the top of my head, but it didn’t (and couldn’t) know how strong I was at things like organisation, being a friend, laughing or pulling pints. So I was crap at French. Biology for me ended after the section on photosynthesis. But although my math grade was dismal, I challenge you to find ANYONE who can work out a % as quickly as me when I see the word “SALE”. 😂😂

So there. Now, almost 20 years on, I’m a teacher and of COURSE I value the Leaving Cert. I love teaching the course and I try my best to encourage my Babbies to give it their best shot. But I also know that they are teenagers. That they have a LOT going on. That some of them have things going on in their lives that are a WHOLE lot more important that exams. 😢 That whole some of them will give it their ALL for 2 years, on the day of the exam, it might just not happen. And sometimes, that at 18, they’re just not quite ready for the ridiculousnpressure of the state exam.

For a whole load of reasons, tomorrow is a huge day for our young adults. But that little brown envelope is only that. An envelope. Despite what it is inflated to be, it is NOT the most important piece of paper in the world. Yes, the letters and numbers inside it will have an immediate effect. Yes, some doors will open and yes, some doors will close, but what is written on the page does not define them.

The Leaving Cert does NOT know our children. It doesn’t see the kindness. It doesn’t measure their ability to change things. It can’t recognise their skills as motivators, or thinkers, or makers, or doers. It does not define them, nor should it. And as parents, yes, some of us might be disappointed tomorrow. But mostly we should be proud, because regardless of what is on that page, they are OUR children and they have done their best and we must remind them that they CAN do whatever they want. Because WE know what they can be.

There are ALWAYS options and sometimes, the path that they are so determined to be the ONLY one for them right now, was never the right one for them…it usually takes a few years for them to realise that however. But they will. 💕

So tonight, tell them how brilliant they are. And leave them under NO illusion that no matter what words and letters are on that piece of paper tomorrow, that you are and will always be proud of them and that you will help them to get to where they want to go, may it be straight through the college door or in a longer, roundabout way. But all roads lead ahead. And before they know it, they won’t even remember what was printed on the page!

It might be almost 20 years since I opened my little brown envelope and had my heart broken in a million pieces, but trust me, everything happens for a reason. 😇 Tonight, I send love to all of the young people (especially my own Babbies😘😘) and to all you exam parents whose minions face the brown envelope tomorrow.

And remember, that little brown envelope does NOT hold the key to their future. They hold that key already.

It’s right inside them.

And no piece of paper can change that. XXX

I am Suck it up Mum

Right. Feck it.

I’m doing it.

Before and After Posts… Let’s call out the BS.

This is my first Before and After post. The two photographs were snapped only 3 seconds apart. 😅

So what did I do? What did I take? A magic pill? A Fantabulous Super-shake? A cup of Magic Tea? Nope.

A breath.

I took a breath. 😅

I straightened my back, turned my body slightly and sucked it all in!👇👇👇 You see, yes, I might be back in my favourite jeans, (after 16 months of training in Jim- NOT overnight), but after 2 magnificently STRETCHY pregnancies and two VERY messy C-Sections, my Belly is not what it might APPEAR to be when you meet me in my clothes! 😂

It’s squishy. It’s soft. It’s covered in stretch marks. There is extra skin that sags when I suck in my tummy. If I relax my tummy muscles, it is quite humongous! 💕

Some days I love it. Some days I hate it. Somedays I am so bloated that I look like I’m 6 months pregnant again. But everyday, I look in the mirror and I see a real life miracle. The stretch marks are my war wounds. My skin is stretchy because it made a house to grow my babies in. 💕It’s my Post-Baby Belly and the only person whose opinion on it matters, is ME.

So when your news feed is full of “Weight loss” adverts showing you “before and after” shots of how you can lose “15 stone in a day” if you just sign up to their pyramidic BS shakes, pills, teas, knickers etc, remember that it is likely that the pictures might just be BS. And when you see someone posting their “Look at my abs” pics, telling you how happy they are with their progress, there MIGHT just be another photograph in their camera roll that they HAVEN’T chosen to share.

If I had posted these and said there had been a 6 month gap between photographs, chances are you’d have believed me. (And of course, you WILL see GENUINE “Before and After” photographs of GENUINE weight loss journeys, but they are “JOURNEYS”, with hard work and sweat and determination, NOT miracle products.)😲

And if your body has stretched and changed to grow your minions, be proud of it. It’s yours. It’s a miracle and it’s beautiful, whether you suck it in or let it all hang out. Have a fablis Friday my Lovelies.

(It goes without saying that anyone who feels like writing anything hateful or negative, has my polite invitation to go build themselves and bridge and get over themselves. My body. Not yours.) 😙😙😙

#beattheBS #realityplease #postbabybelly #perspective