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 Suspicious Mum…ย 

โ€‹S-Mum is suspicious.
It seems that my perfectly dysfunctional little family unit survived quite well in my absence this weekend.  I came home to clean children and a tidy house.  I was impressed. ๐Ÿ˜…
Even more suspicious is the fact that Mini-Me has been BEAUTIFULLY behaved today. ๐ŸŒž๐ŸŒž๐ŸŒž

Like all day.

I didn’t have to scold or shout once.

And when I spoke, she actually listened…mostly. 
Seriously.  Something is not right.
Usually I automatically say things between 4 and 6 times in one breath, with the volume increasing each time. 

“Get off the baby…get off the baby…Get off the baby…Get off the baby…GET OFF THE FECKIN BABEEEEEEEEEEEY,” can happen up to 14 times a day.
Other lines I LOVE to repeat OVER & OVER ARE:

Put on your shoes please. 

Where are your socks?

Eat your dinner.

Get off the baby. (It happens a lot.)

Wash your hands please.

Where are your pjs?

Will you put down that feckin phone? (At the Him, not the girls obviously. Although I’d be as well saying it to Princess…or the Dog in fact. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก)
I say these lines about 578 times each day and most of the time, I end up SCREAMING them before anyone even HEARS me.
But no.

  Today, Mini-Me was great.  She was quite fablis and now, she’s IN BED… NOT hiding outside the living door underneath the clothes-rack! 

She’s IN BED.

ASLEEP ๐ŸŽ‰๐ŸŽŠ๐ŸŽ‰๐ŸŽŠ.
My beautiful little angelic cherub is on her way to dreamland where hopefully she’ll dream of our AMAZING peaceful and non-screamingful day and her subconscious, or fairies or something, will teach her that THIS is how life SHOULD BE. 

Then, she’ll awaken from her slumber (after 8am) and continue on her streak of utter Fabulosity and perfection.

And I shall NEVER scream again.

And I will NEVER be cross again.

And I shall NEVER feel like NO ONE FRICKEN LISTENS TO ME!

And we shall all live happily ever after… until the Him comes home and looks at his phone instead of at me… ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
But tonight, I shall relish the VERRRRRRRRRY unusual feeling of a FULL DAY OF MUMMY WINS and rest my voice, because in reality, I’ll probably need it tomorrow!
What’s your “FAVOURITE” line that you LOVE to use?  You know? 

Over and over and over and over and over….๐Ÿท

I am Sobbing at the Soaps Mum

โ€‹So! 

After a disaster of a morning/afternoon/early evening…OK. I’ll start again.
So! 

After a pretty epic Feck-it-up Friday, things began to settle after I visited Him and his Jim.  For one sweaty hour,  I was Laura Croft, (without the boobs obviously) and I ROCKED.  

(I no longer fall over when trying to lunge. THAT, my friends, is progress!

Yay me and screw you tummy-muscles-like-a-bingo-wing. I’m gonna find youuuuuu!  ๐Ÿ˜‚)
Anybuts. ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

Mini-Me ate her dinner in 9 minutes tonight. 

It was “home made bread covered with ripe unblemished organic tomatoes and cheese from a Virgin cow, accompanied by new season potatoes gently coated in free range dust and gluten free oil from the rain forest”. 

Yes. 

I fed her Pizza and waffles.

Because I’m on Feck-it-up Friday so I may as well continue through with the theme.
After an unusually calm bedtime, with my two little munchkins snoring, I needed food.

I RESISTED the temptation to ring the Him and tell him to come home ONLY if he was carrying a biryani or he’d be bludgeoned to death with a Peppa pig car.
I also decided I’d be good and NOT have a Friday night tipple, because I am energised and clean and organic and fabulous.
And then…
Then, I caught the last 10 minutes of Corrie and watched THE most moving and amazingly awful death of Kylie Platt.
(Shut up.  Yes.  I may teach film studies for a living, but at the minute, Tree Fu Tom is the intellectual highpoint of my day.)
So Corrie was impressive and horrible and terrible and by the time the Him came in, I was BAWLING.

His panic was quickly replaced by hysterical laughter when I eventually slabbered “Kylie …just …a….died and it’s. ..so ooh. ..sad!” ๐Ÿ˜ญ๐Ÿ˜ญ๐Ÿ˜ญ

His reply included a LOT of expletives and the line “The last time I came home to this you were pregnant.”

Pause.

Terror. ๐Ÿ˜ˆ
And now he’s panicking that I’m up the dudu again and I’m probably going to have to do a test to bring his stress levels down from 90. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
(I’m not! Calm the cacks.)
So with the trauma of the most realistic portrayal of last breath I’ve seen since Marley & Me, the horrific sadness of her last message to her kids,  not to mention David Platt’s heart wrenching “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”, I did what everyone else who was there did.
I poured a very large Gin with a tiny dash of tonic.
And my nerves are just about settling so I MAY need another one.

Or three.

You know… for Kylie?

May she Rest in Soapland Heaven.  ๐Ÿ˜‡๐Ÿ˜‡
Happy Fecked-it-up Friday Ladybelles.
Feel free to tell me how you Fecked-it-up today. Or rub it in how your day was fablus.

Whatever.

Cheers Bitcheepoooos!

S-Mum x   ๐Ÿ˜™๐Ÿ˜™

I am Seriously long dinner Mum

S-Mum is foooooked. ๐Ÿ˜ฉ๐Ÿ˜ฉ๐Ÿ˜ฉ
Tonight’s dinner took 1 hour and 13 minutes.
1 feckin HOUR and 13 soul-destroying minutes.๐Ÿ˜ 
It went like this.
Her:  I don’t like Chicken.

Me: Yes you do.

Her:  You KNOW I don’t like chicken.

Me: Yes you do.

Her: No I don’t. (Pushes chicken off plate.)

Me: Please put that chicken back on your plate.  Now, stop your nonsense and eat your dinner. (Inside scream.)

Her: I don’t LIKE chicken.

Me: You ate chicken in Granny’s on Monday.

Her: That was Gwanny’s chicken. 

Me: (You have to be feckin joking me.) Eat your dinner please pet. 

Her: WHY. are. there. CARROTS. on. my. plate? (Impressive tone there Mini-Me.)

Me: Eat your dinner.  Look.  Princess is eating her dinner. (Futile sing songy voice)

Her: These potatoes are BORING.

ME: (FUCK ME….) The potatoes are special magic potatoes that give you super powers.

Her: I don’t like chicken. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก
Repeat this x 17.
Add in a few top parenting lines such as: 
“If you eat your dinner, you can have TWO bedtime stories.”  (I’m amazing aren’t I?)
“Did you know that eating your dinner makes your muscles bigger than Daddy’s?”

(JUST EAT YOUR BLOODY DINNER!)
“Look. Your baby sister is almost FINISHED HERS. She’s such a big girl.” (Yup. I know. I’m terrible.)
“Potatoes make you big and strong.” (Yes.  I said it. Despite the interweb telling me last week that this line will fuel negative body image. Seriously?)
“Mummy wears glasses because I didn’t eat carrots when I was little.”  (EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT….SWEET JEEEEEEEEESUS, JUST EEEEEEEEAT!)
“YOU WILL SIT AT THAT TABLE UNTIL YOU’VE EATEN THOSE POTATOES.” 

Dirty looks.๐Ÿ˜ˆ
Princess had started hers, fallen asleep in her highchair, had a 20 minute nap, woken up and finished hers in the meantime.  ๐Ÿ˜‡๐Ÿ˜‡๐Ÿ˜‡
“Right. Scooby Doo is going off.” (Imagine that I would have cartoons on during dinner?  I know.  Go ahead.  Phone social services.  I’ll dial for you shall I?)
The telly was turned off. 

She wailed like a shitfaced banshee.

I turned my attention to the food covered fudge monster in the high chair…

I ignored her snarling…

And she finally gave in.
(She probably got hungry! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚)
It took one blast in the microwave and 1 hour and 13 minutes, but she EVENTUALLY ate the stupid potatoes.
THEN.
THEN, she bounced off the chair, scraped and put her own fricken plate in the dishwasher, skipped over to me, gave me a kiss and said “Two stories.  That’s SOOOOOO KIND OF YOU MY MAMMY BEAR!”
I may give up now.  I don’t stand a chance.
So anyway.

How was your day?

๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜
#SMum #Mammyblogger #Mummy #MiniMeAndPrincess #RealStruggles #FML  #dinner

I am Stupid teething Mum

S-Mum ย is VERRRRRY tired.

Princess had her first restless night in ages. Stupid teeth. ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜  The wee dote had a raging temperature all night and would have sucked the full tube of bonjella had I let her. ย She’s up since 6am and has the dirtiest big red spot on her wee cheek.

It’s now 7am.

She’s on her second dribble bib.

I’m on my second coffee.

Mini-Me was exactly the same when she was teething: temperature, spot, tooth.

In that order.

Every time.

Isn’t it terrible that getting something as simple as teeth can be so bloody sore on them? ๐Ÿ˜ฉ๐Ÿ˜ฉ
Meanwhile, The Him is enroute to some foreign county to climb over walls and run around a field full of mud with his buddies from Jim. ย They’ll wade through rivers, crawl under electric wires and clamber over obstacles, getting muck in places that muck should NEVER be. I’m not even going to bother cleaning the bathroom today because he’ll be leaking magic muck from his pores for the next week anyway.

In fairness, it’s all for charity and I’m sure they’ll have a ball.๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ช
He’ll land home tonight acting as if he’s John Mc-feckin-Clane, having saved the state in Die Hard 19, covered in manly scratches and dirt, flopping onto the sofa and expecting a round of applause and a beer.

And praise indeed he shall get… as long as he arrives home with a Prawn Balti from Chilli Shaker.

If he brings naan bread, I might even run him a bath.

If he brings wine, I’ll cheer and shout “Yippeekayeeey Mother Fucker!” at him every 5 minutes until Wednesday.
But now, I’m off to put a collection of teethers and carrots in the fridge. ย Yes carrots. ย Have you ever guven a teethung child a big, chilled, peeled carrot to gnaw on? They LOVE IT! Obviously it needs to be thick so their wee gummies cant bite a bit off, but it’s great. ย Especially when the tooth is almost through.)

Then I’m going to put on my glittery shoes and go shopping.

Shopping list so far:๐Ÿ‘‡

Calpol.

Neurofen.

Teetha granules.

Bonjela.

Gin…

Have a Sassy Saturdays Bitcheepooooos ๐Ÿ˜Ž๐Ÿ˜Ž