I am She’s Not Quite Getting it Mum

“WHAT is THAT Mammy?”

“What is what Sweetie?”

“What is THAT fing on the tray?”
“That is the chicken for Mammy and Daddy’s dinner tonight.”

“Dat is NOT a chucken. Chucken is white.”
“Chicken is white when it is cooked. This is a raw chicken.”

“Why is it not moooovin like?”
“Because it’s dead Baby.”

“Nooooooooo? Who kulled the chicken?”
“Erm, the Farmer killed the chicken so that Mammy can cook the chicken before I eat it.” (This may not end well…๐Ÿ˜ฅ๐Ÿ˜ฅ๐Ÿ˜ฅ)

“But that Farmer should NOT kill his wee chuckens. That is NOT very nice.”
“But how would we get chicken for our dinner if the farmer doesn’t kill it pet?”

(Looks at me as if I’m the most intellectually challenged cretur on the planet…๐Ÿ˜…)
“You COULD just go to the shop and BUY chucken Mammy. Then the farmer could stop killing da wee chuckens and everyone would be happy.”

“Ok. ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜That’s a great idea. I’ll do that the next day.”
“Good Mammy… And if you see that farmer, sort him out. He shouldn’t be going around kulling his wee pet chuckens. That is not nice behaviour.”

(I wonder if I should tell her where Granda will be sending her buddies Ellie and JohnJoe next Spring? ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚)

#fml #iswineonatuesdayallowed

I am Some Mammy Poppins Hacks Mum

So we have survived the first week of normality and reality with everyone back to School, Childcare and work. I donโ€™t know how you other Mammies are feeling this morning, but I for one am exhaustipated. Even though the girls have been up around 7am most mornings over the summer, suddenly having to have everyone out the door, fully dressed and even partially fed, has been a challenge.

It will take a few weeks to get back into the swing of it, but here are a few things that I did this week which helped, if only a little bit.

  1. Meal plan: I did out a plan for the week of what meals weโ€™d be eating and then based the shopping list on what I needed for these. Mini-Meโ€™s lunch tends to be the same every day, so that is handy and Iโ€™ll get back into the habit of making extra dinner for me to have as lunch the next day too. Itโ€™s now Sunday morning and the list worked so well, that there is NOTHING left in the fridge and so we might just have to go out for Brunch.

2. All hail the Slowcooker: Unfortunately, with The Him and Jim working 482 hours per week, family dinners are only a weekend thing here, so yes I usually end up cooking twice a day. When Iโ€™m off, this is not a problem, but now back at work, where you have to condense your whole day into 2 hours, it becomes one. And so my trusty slowcooker will be returned to regular use.

3. Get up early: Yeah yeah, cliched I know, but it is so true. Iโ€™m an early bird; not because I like getting out of bed. No. I LOVE my bed. But I also love having an uninterrupted shower and a full hot cup of coffee. If Iโ€™m not up at least 40 minutes before the girls, morning melts into mayhem. But if I can be up, washed, caffeinated, muck-uped and have the lunches packed BEFORE the babylink starts to flash, things are a whole lot more peaceful. If all I have to do is to focus on getting THEM ready, we can do it with a LOT less stress than if we all fall out of bed at the same time.

  1. Daily Drawers: I introduced this little trick when Mini-Me was in Naionra and itโ€™s working a treat again already. I bought this stack of drawers and labeled the front. Every Sunday, I put clean pants and socks into the drawers. Her PE gear goes into the day she has PE and her shoes go into the bottom drawer every evening when she takes them off and the uniform hangs beside it. She loves it and it means we donโ€™t have the โ€œWherethefeckareyourshoesforgodssakewewillbelateโ€ debachle every morning! Itโ€™s also great for encouraging them to dress themselves.

5. Clean on a Thursday night: Since I have been working, even before I had the girls, I have always tried to be in the habit of cleaning on a Thursday. I do whatever washing needs done, clean the bathrooms, hoover and mop, and give the kitchen a once over. It means that when we get home on a Friday evening, the house is more pleasant than usual. And while the breakfast dishes and mess from Friday morning might be waiting for us, the house itself is generally clean and so apart from throwing uniforms and work clothes in the machine on Friday night, Mammy can focus on important things when they go to bed on Friday nightโ€ฆ like what Iโ€™m going to watch and whether I want red or white!

Now, do NOT get me wrong. Mary Poppins I am not, but these are 5 things that are GENERALLY easy to turn into habits. Apart from the odd week, Iโ€™ll manage to maintain most of these goals and therefore, most of my sanity!

If you have any other tricks of #parentingwin hacks, please share them in the comments.

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 She’s in Charge Mum

It looks like he’s leading her through the woods doesn’t it? ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡

Well. What’s REALLY happening here is that this little Wobbler is leading HIM right up the garden path. Princess has morphed into a Demon.

On Sunday she threw her first FULL BLOWN tantrum. We were out for dinner. She lost the bap. We sat looking at each other like two teenagers, neither of whom had a CLUE what to do or how to react. She was screaming and kicking. I held on tight while Daddy pulled Peppa Feckin Pork up on the phone. #needsmust ๐Ÿ˜ข She stopped screaming once the music started. I swear to God, she was like a deflating balloon and then peace was restored and the other diners stopped glaring at us…

Granda didn’t believe a word of it. Nooooooo. HIS little Princess wouldn’t do that. Not his wee angel…Nope. Granda got his eyes open today however ๐Ÿ˜‚when we went out for tea to celebrate my little sis’s little brown envelope. Once again, DemonDoll threw a strop in the restaurant. Granda declared her a feral tyrant and declared HIMSELF officially retired from all tantrum duties, now that his own youngest is all grown up. I do believe that after 36 years of parenting MAYHEM, it has taken a Curley haired cherub to finally break him. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

“There was a little girl, who had a little curl”… and when she was bad, she was TERRIFYING! ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING. ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ

So as innocent as she might look here๐Ÿ‘‡, dandering up a laneway with her Daddy, from behind, you can’t see the glint in her eye that tells him “I own you Daddy. I own you.”

(In fairness, he’s well used to it. Note what he’s carrying in the other hand… because the OTHER Dollyanna insisted on bringing her scooter and lasted approximately 3 minutes. #rascals #daddy)

Still. I wouldn’t change them for the world. How was your day? I do hope all of the brown envelope Mums are having a large grape tonight and that the Minions have fun and safe celebrations ๐Ÿ˜š๐Ÿ˜š๐Ÿ˜š

I am “Silly Daddy” Mum

Mammy is usually very good at giving The Him the credit of being a very wonderful Daddy Bear. Usually…

But sometimes, he comes out with something, or DOES something, SO FECKIN DOUCHEBAG, that my brain starts singing Mary Magdalene’s “He’s a Maaaaaan, he’s JUST a man” at full volume and I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him and put on my “Are you fecking KIDDING me?” face.

Today, The Him returned from Jim and decided to make himself an omelette.

 

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Now. given that the minions had JUST eaten their lunches, one might be forgiven for thinking that they would not require more sustenance for a few hours.

But knowing them, especially the Princess, like we do, one would also assume that The Him would have automatically made extra for The Bin that is our youngest daughter.

Nope.

He makes himself a lovely omelette and sets it down on the table. As he turns to get his coffee, The Fudgemonster has already climbed up on his seat and reached for his fork… or as she saw it in HER world… HER fork.

“Hi Wee Woman!” exclaims The Him, interrupting her cutting of the omelette with her finger. “That’s Daddy’s.”

It’s like a slow motion NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO scene from a movie where he has the words out before I can warn him…

She stops.
She stares at the omelette.
She looks up at Him.
She looks over at me. (I’m holding my breath at this point.)
She looks back at the omelette and then slowly puts down the fork…
(I swear to God, a MAFIA boss would have been less sinister in his calmness. I almost expected “Get rid of him Donny” to be the next words out of her mouth and for Bugsy style shooters to jump out from behind the sofa, dressed in 1940’s gear and DESTROY him!)

The Him by this point is realising that he MIGHT have made a mistake…

He looks at her.
He looks at me.
He looks terrified…

And just as the poor cretur is about to appease the situation by handing over ALL the food, Princess takes a breath, quivers her lip, climbs down from the chair and runs towards me, her little cheeks and thighs wobbling in the wind, and launches into THE SADDEST, most Genuine and heartbroken WAIL I have EVER heard.

Poor Princess.
Poor Daddy. He doesn’t quite know what to do.

“Cut off a piece for her and put it on her plate” I whisper. The Him briskly does what he’s told. He puts the plate on the table and says “Princess want some omelette?”

“YEAH!” she shouts, mid sob, before jumping off my knee and making it onto her seat in less than 4 seconds, where she happily munched on the omelette piece, firing dirty looks at her Daddy between bites.

You see, what Daddy didn’t realise, (or forgot, feck knows), is that there are rules about eating in the same room as a wobbler, especially OUR wobbler:

If I see it, it’s mines.
If you make it, it’s mines.
If I smell it, it’s mines.
If it’s edible, it’s mines.
If you cook it, it’s mines.
If you put food on a plate, it’s mines.
If I think it’s yours, it makes it more tasty and more mines.
etc., etc., etc…

How Daddy didn’t know these rules, I’ll never know.
But he knows them now and somehow, I can’t see him making the same mistake twice.

When you break an egg, there’s no going back, is there?!

How was your Bank Holiday Ladybelle?

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’—

How terrible I am.
How truly awful and immature I am.
Today, Mini-Me ate chucken.
My long time followers will know that Mini-Me decided recently that she “HATES chucken,”๐Ÿ“ so imagine my surprise when I found her happily devouring not 1, not 2, but THREE Chucken fingers earlier today.
I’m not sure if it was because Her Uncle Daniel cooked them for her,  instead of Mammy who obviously tries to poison her every mealtime by even SUGGESTING chucken, or because her cousins were eating them, declaring them to be yummy! ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜
 It MIGHT have been SOMETHING to do with the fact that she THOUGHT they were “fushfungers”… ๐Ÿ˜‚
I was about to ask her if she was enjoying her chicken, when she piped up “Uncle Daniel, these Fushfungers are yummy!” ๐Ÿ˜‚
I didn’t correct her.
I offered her another one and told her what a good girl she was… and then I laughed and laughed and laughed. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

Yup.
Terrible and awful I am, but terribly funny and awfully satisfying it was! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
Bad Mammy… 

I’m going straight to hell.

But that is OK as all of my friends will already be there and the grapes shall always be warm. ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
How was your day? 
๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”๐Ÿ“๐Ÿ”