I am “Sort out that Bull” Mum

Just another Saturday Morning…

I’m driving along, with Granny Dearest in the passenger seat and the two Minions behind me. Mini-Me has told 32 stories in 3 miles. I’m just about to tune out, glad that Granny Dearest is on with me to answer her. I don’t have to “Mmmmhmmm” and “Really?” and “Very good” like a broken record. Granny Dearest is doing a great job of making all the right sounds. I’m humming along to Despasito, when I hear a new conversation begin.

“Granda needs to move them Bulls out of the field Gwanny,” announces Herself.

“He’ll be bringing them in soon pet” answers Granny.

“No, no, no, no, but He Needs to take the Bull out of the field Right NOW.”

“Why Darling…?” (Oh Jeeeeesus I suddenly know where this is going.)

“Because that Bad Bull HURTED one of my wee Cows.” ( Granny Dearest takes a breath and I know that SHE also now knows where this is going.)

“Buckle Up Granny Bear” I mutter, knowing full well what is about to come out of her mouth and wondering WHEN she saw it, and WHY she is only telling me now?

“You see my wee cow Ellie was scratching her neck at the feeder that Granda weft in the field and that big, bad, black bull pushed her out of his way and he hurted her and it wasn’t very nice. That bad Bull CLIMBED up on Ellie’s BACK… and do you KNOW what he did THEN?”

Oh Sweet Jezabell… WHAT is about to come out of my child’s mouth?

“What Darling?” I just about get the words out. I can’t breathe.

“That Bull started RUNNING Granny! ON HER BACK! He is NOT a very nice Bull.”

That’s it. Granny might need a defibrillator in the passenger seat. I’ve pulled in and stopped at the junction. Trying to drive right now is NOT an option. Granny Dearest is turning a perfect shade of magenta, as she tries and fails to hold in her laughter because Mini-Me can see her face from where she sits on her innocent, self-righteous little throne.

I on the other hand am buckled over the steering wheel, in hysterics laughing, while Granny tries to redirect the conversation to a safer and saner place.

“Oh no. The poor wee cow. Maybe the Bull was just playing?”

“Nope. He was being mean. And poor Ellie couldn’t get away.”

“Was she giving him a piggy back maybe?” I venture through the tears.

“Now Mammy. (teenage eyeroll included here). They are COWS, not Piggies. Granda doesn’t HAVE pigs. You KNOW that…”

And that’s that. Granny explodes and I crack up completely.

“It’s not funny you guys. It’s for REAL LIFE

(This is her new one. Everything is “for real-life”.)

“You’ll have to tell Granda when we get home pet,” Granny has composed herself enough to be coherent. I’m still parked on the side of the road…

“I will. I’ll have to tell him to sort that Bad Bull out!”

(I think Ellie might have already done that. Lucky Bull. I now know how I’ll start my answer whatever day she asks where babies come from. “Well Darling. Do you remember that day the bull and Ellie were… )

#thedonegalmammy #thesmum #bull

I am Slightly Chuffed Mum

Last week was pretty exciting for me and my little old Blog.

On Thursday morning I got an email to say that I have made the SHORTLIST in the V by Very Blog Awards.  The S-Mum is Shortlisted in TWO categories.

  1. Best parenting Blog
  2. Best Blog Post for my post “I am Saying it Out Loud Mum” about my own struggles with “My Little Bitch, Anxiety”  

(Read it here  

https://the-smum.com/2017/06/11/i-am-saying-it-out-loud-mum/

 

V for Very Blog Awards 2017_Judging Round Button_Shortlist

http://blogawardsireland.com/

Then, that VERY evening, I received ANOTHER email from the lovely folk at Maternity and Infant to tell me that I have reached the FINAL in their Boots Maternity and Infant Awards.

https://maternityandinfant.ie/awards/

 

Now, let me explain to you what a HUGE deal this is to me…  Out of the 26 blogs nominated, only 10 make it to the final.  This in itself is exciting and the fact that I made it to the top 10 excites me no end.  But the MOST exciting thing is seeing my little old name up beside the other 9 bloggers, all of whom I follow and many of whom I hold in regard as being Parenting Blogger royalty in Ireland.

I can’t stop looking at the image of the ten Blog names.

And I can’t thank my readers enough for considering my Smumbles to be worth their time and energy and votes.

Should I never win a thing, I honestly don’t care.

I shall go to these ceremonies and meet lovely people and enjoy the fact that somewhere on the interweb, my words are being recognized as not being complete and utter waffle!

SO thank you to V by Very and the Bloggies and Thank you to Maternity and Infant and to everyone who is in any small way responsible for The S-Mum getting onto these wonderful lists.FB_IMG_1505424273626.jpg

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 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 She’s Chasing Cows Mum

Fecking Cow…

Mammy arrived at work half dressed and slightly dishevelled. Smug Mammy was up at 6.30am, perfectly on track for a practically perfect Monday morning and smugly smiling at the clock thinking “I’m gonna beat you today Beeaatch!” 😐

Then a cow walked past my kitchen window.

Yup.
A cow.

“MAMMEEEEEE DER’S A COW IN DA GAAAAAAARDEN” screams Mini-Me.
“Mooooooooo MOOOOOOOOO COOOOW! Screams Princess, even pushing the dodee to the side of her mouth to get the words out…

“Faaaaaaack!” shouts Mammy, scrambling for the phone to ring Granda.. (“Daddy, ring John Joe and tell him his fricking cows are in my garden” screams Mammy at her poor Daddy, hanging up before he has the chance to answer.)… while simultaneously pulling on the first pair of runners I get my hands on… I only notice that they’re the Him’s as I start to gallop up the garden! 😂

In 15 seconds, I’m out and running at the cow to chase it out of my garden. The poor fecker is bewildered looking. She doesn’t know where to go. In fairness, if I had a half-dressed woman running at me in her husband’s size 12 trainers, screaming like a banshee and wielding a deckchair, yes a deckchair, (it was the first thing I met when I ran outside😅), I’d probably be slightly terrified too. 😂😂

The horsedog 🐴🐶finally realises that something is up and hauls himself off his fat arse to come help me. Suddenly injected with adrenalin at the sight of his Mammy chasing a cow with a deckchair, he turns into 007Dog and Witchin 12 seconds has done an impressive impression of a sheepdog, herding the wandering cow back out my gate.
My hero…

Pity he didn’t think to stop it coming IN the gate! 🐴🐶

I run straight back to the house to find Mini-Me freaking the feck OUT, hysterical that Mammy was going to be hurt by the cow. 😭😭I get her cuddled and settled, explaining that the cow is fine…(or out of my garden at least😂)… but Princess running around in her nappy screaming “COW MOOOOOOOOO COW MOOOOOOOOO!” isn’t helping. #fml

I look at the clock, realise we have 5 minutes to get out the door and curse the cow some more. The only drying my hair is getting today is the wind that blew through it as I ran. Fetlocks blowing in the wind I tell you. I remember to kick off The Him’s gigantics and superspeed everyone out the door.

We just about make it to the bus and I take a deep breath as I pull into the carpark, realising that my shirt is buttoned wrong and my hair looks like a whin bush.

Mini-Me has told 3 people how “Mammy chased a cow up the garden” before I even get out of the building.

I wonder how many people heard her story today! 😂

Mammy 1. Random cow 0.

AND as I explained to my little worried Mini-Me earlier, Mammy is not afraid of cows. (In fact Mammy has dealt with many cows in her time, both bovine and not so bovine… and I generally win, just maybe not always in The Him’s size 12s… 😂😂)

#countrylife #alwaysafarmer