I am Saying “Hi” Mum

Well it seems that Mammy has quite a few new readers over the past few weeks and so it’s only polite to say Hi!  Also, some of my lovely FB followers suggested that I not get lost behind the guise of only being Mammy, and so I thought it a good time to say Hi to you all.

Welcome to the madness of my life.

It might be humdrum and ordinary, but it certainly is not quiet or dull.  For those of you who have been following me a while, thank you for still being here!  And to those of you who have just stumbled into my pile of Smumbling, let me introduce myself.

I am Maria, a Donegal Mammy of two minions, one 6 and one 2.  We live in our palace on Smumble Hill.  Our palace is a messy, toy crowded bungalow with an impressive “layer of love” and windows that get washed once a year. We have cows in the field and a bare garden because Mammy could kill a plastic plant.

Mini-Me is 6, is an absolute drama queen (like her Mammy) and has provided me with some of the most wonderful and some of the most challenging moments of my life.  She is Mini-Me for a reason; not only is she my double in looks, she is a walking, talking miniature of myself…probably half the reason she drives me so bananas! She’s a wee legend.

Princess is 2 and she is a Dictator of the world in Training.  Hilarious and full of badness, she is not only keeping us on our toes, she is making us dance. She’s a rascal.

My husband, or The Him, is Mr Rushe Fitness and runs a gym (Jim) here in Letterkenny as well as an online training platform.  He’s quite the handsome oul devil and I still like him a lot. He’s the best Daddy and not bad at the Husband part either!  We have a very busy life and a very noisy house and as knackered as I am, I wouldn’t change a thing.

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I’ve been writing this blog for over 3 years and have been a finalist in quite a few National Blogger awards.  I’ve had loads of great opportunities and I still love that I never know what will be in my mailbox when I click open in the morning.

As well as blogging here, I am a teacher, I write stuff and I’m Director with our local musical society. I like to be busy.  While I love to get Glammy Mammied, 90% of the time I am either in gym gear or PJs.  I ROCK the badger’s arse look and I like to look windswept and interesting.  I am very good at that.

The S-Mum Blog is my Mammy voice. I like to make people laugh.  I like to show other Mammies that life is not and should not be instaperfect.  I am not one to use #soblessed or #mybestlife.  You’re more likely to see #wtf or #fml…

I do some collaborations with companies that I use and like and sometimes I run giveaways, but that is not the focus of my blog.  It never has been. It’s about writing and sharing and starting conversations…and sometimes making Mammies smile. I also do a bit of chatting at things.  I likes to chat. (No idea where Mini-Me gets it!)

I am a Gym Mammy, I love to train and I like my body to be a certain way.  Not only does it make me feel better physically, if I don’t lift things and hit things, I get a bit hormental. But don’t worry, I tend to keep my gym content over on Instagranny or on the lifestyle section here.

I also like wine and gin and good food. I can eat like a starved gorilla.

So there.  Boring yet busy.  Ordinary yet fun.  I’ll tell it as it is. I don’t accept BS and if you don’t like what I write, feel free to bugger off.  If you do, like and comment and enjoy the fun.

So there.

This is Mammy and Mammy says hi.  Thank you for following my Blog and I hope you enjoy  xx

 

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I am So It’s a New Baby Mum

Mammy does love the news of a new babby.

Mammy doesn’t particularly fancy the prospect of having another one herself now, but Mammy still does be smiling when the news of another wrinkly little Squisheeface is announced.

Mammy does be particularly excited when the new babby belongs to someone she knows and cares about. 

And while Mammy couldn’t give a continental contraction about the Family Royale in the Brexit state, Mammy couldn’t help but think “Ah nice” when she saw the news on the Twit-feed this morning.

Mammy is glad that Katie and Billy Boy have welcomed another little prince to their family. Lovely. Honestly.

What Mammy doesn’t get however, is where the Media managers of the family Royale are and what they are drinking? Mammy would like to know why the fook they think that the poor woman needs to be paraded around only 4 hours after the birth, dressed to the nines and made up perfectly?

God but she looks stunning in fairness and no, Mammy is not bitter as Mammy is very aware that that is one of “the joys” that Katie signed up to when she sold her soul to the life of the eternal celebrity. And as long as she is happy, good for her.

(Also, Mammy is quite certain that I too probably looked EXACTLY like that 4 hours after the birth of her girls… Because Mammy was so drugged and knackered that she would have believed ANYTHING at that particular moment. I may have reached that level of bloat free and prettiful again by 5 months postpartum!)

Mammy would love to have seen lovely Kate (for she is indeed beautiful) walking out of the Lindybob wing looking happy but knackered, with her hair scraped back from her face and a comfy tracksuit. And flat shoes, for I am sure her Ladybits are crying with every step.

Because then, while I still would have wondered and awed at the fact that she was, you know, STANDING, I would have seen what she is behind the royal BS… A warrior woman who has just brought life into the world and who should be left the feck alone with her lovely wee babby, rather than having to not only parade around outside the wing looking like she was at a Ladies’ Day, but to look perfect while doing it.

I do hope that there are no Mammies looking at her today feeling lesser or inferior to what they are because they weren’t smiling to the world with a blow dry. I hope that no Mammy feels that she was doing something wrong because 4 hours after the birth she was wrestling with sanitary nappies and crying because she was crying and didn’t know why she was crying.

And mostly, I hope that right now, Kate is snuggled up in her baggies, on her sofa, hair up, bra off, cozy with her Hubby, enjoying tea and toast and smiling at her new wee Baby and glad that all of that circus is done with!

Congrats to them. And congrats to all the Mammies who didn’t have a live feed of their hospital wall running on Twitter as her little Prince was getting his crown on!

I am Saying Happy 60th Daddy

granda2My Daddy is the King of the Whole Wide World.* (official title decreed by me)

And today my Daddy turns 60.

How fablis!

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“Your parents are so young!”  I hear this often.  As Daddy turns 60, I see people’s brains doing the maths! It’s great that my parents are young. And yet while they had me when they were only 20, they were older than I am now when my youngest sister was born. And so my parents know what BOTH are like; to be young parents and to be not so young parents.

So which is best?  Well that is for another post… but my Daddy Bear remains young in his antics and his heart!

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Clowning around at our wedding!

 

I am blessed to still have both of my parents and even more blessed that they are young and healthy. Being 31 when Mini-Me was born, (and trust me, that was young enough for me!), I often shudder when I consider that when she is my age, I shall be 67. (I hope!)  And to think that I’ll be 72 when Princess reaches where I am now, puts the fear of God in me. I just hope I’m still around to annoy them!

And so my wee Daddy, who is the ABSOLUTE King of my world, is 60. He is my rock. He is my guiding light.  Sometimes, he has been my truth barer and by GOD has he had the brunt of it with me. He has done EVERYTHING for the 6 of us.  He still busts himself every day to provide for us.  He works harder than any other man I know and he has taught me every single thing that I know.

The main things he taught me?

  1.   If you want it, work for it, earn it, deserve it. (Yup!)
  2.  Your morning is your day. (as she types at 5.30am!)
  3.  Remember who has the problem.  (There’s the elixer of life in a single sentence right there. Make it your mantra.)

There is no one in the world who can talk sense into me like Daddy.  I am his double in every way.  We have had epic fun and we have had epic battles. What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force? Well, eventually the unstoppable force realises that the immovable object is usually right and that she should just have listened to him in the first place.  The minute I realised that Daddy was and is usually right, my life became easier instantly!  What a waste of teenage angst eh?

Not only is he the best Daddy in the world, there is no Granda in the world as much in love with his Grandkids as he is. He is so like MY Granda, his Daddy, who was the centre of our world. And he is idolised and adored by his little herd of kiddies. He is strong and kind and genuine and amazing.

He is my Daddy and I am the luckiest girl in the world.  (and he loves me more than he does the other 5.  He’s loved me the longest like!)

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Happy Birthday my Daddy Bear. Here’s to the rest.

I am Shopping with Him Mum

The weekly shop.

The middle aisle of shite…

When Mammy does the weekly shop, all ingredients and things required to fulfill the meal plan for the family for the week shall be acquired as economically and quickly as possible.

Mammy knows which shop sells what and where the best place to buy kidney beans is.

Mammy can walk into Aldi-Everything and fill the trolley without really having to think too much about it. We’re creatures of habit in our house see, the weekly menu doesn’t change much, and so even if I’m distracted, or in a hurry, or just knackered to the point of Mombie, Mammy automatically reaches for the usual and will always leave quite content that she can feed her minions for the next 5-7 days.

When DADDY goes into Aldi-everything however, while the shopping list will be acquired (mostly…how he misses the eggs everytime, I shall never know…), there is also a 100% chance that we might also acquire some new gadget or item which is completely unnecessary and altogether superfluous. Leaf blowers, power drills, strange shaped batteries, and paint… none of which taste good in a chilli con carne… have all be purchased alongside the nappies and bananas.

When I have the girls with me, I spend my time hissing things like “Put that watermelon down please”, “We don’t need wool and knitting needles” and “Would you come away from the sweets please.”

When we ALL go to do the shopping, which is rare in fairness, it is a fun experience for Mammy.

I get to say things like “Put that ski gear down please.” (We have NEVER been skiing and it is not something that is on the cards for us, like, ever.) “We don’t need a power washer” and “Would you come away from the countertop fridges please. We HAVE a fridge.”

In fairness, I don’t even see the middle aisle usually. I see the peppers and mushrooms and binbags. But for Himself, the joy of a tilecutter across from the breadsticks is utterly intriguing…and baffling.

It’s always fun seeing what he’ll bring home when he does the shopping however. And aren’t I lucky to have a Him who does help out a bit with the boring weekly tasks?

Now, does anyone have a recipe for Paint Stroganoff?

I am So I Have Made a Choice Mum

I’ve thought long and hard about whether or not to publish this.

I’ve chosen to. I’ve made a choice.

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I’ve changed my mind a thousand times. See that’s the thing about choices; about decision making. You consider your options and you weigh them up and then you choose.

You can change your mind if you like. You can decide what’s best for you. You can talk to others, get professional or expert advice. Then you can change your mind again.

And so I have made a choice. Not about my vote, no, that choice wasn’t a difficult one. It’s quite simple for me really.

The choice I made was whether or not to write about it. And you can choose whether or not you want to read on. No one is forcing you… because you have a choice. You have the right to choose.

Generally, you can make a choice about EVERYTHING; well, unless you’re a pregnant woman in Ireland. Or indeed an Irish Man who has been faced with the unthinkable situation of possibly losing his wife, partner or daughter.

Here’s the thing.

I am Pro-Choice. I am NOT pro-abortion. I do not condone it. I would never encourage it. I would never want to have an abortion. But you see. I have never needed an abortion. I have never been in the situation where abortion was an option, or a requirement for me.

Lucky me. Lucky, Lucky me.

And so, having never had to have one, or consider one or even think about one, why should I have a say on the issue? Why do I have the right to speak on this private taboo which is in dire need of public support? Who am I to even think about writing my views and publishing them?

I’ll tell you shall I? I am an Irish woman. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a sister. I am an aunt.

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I am so sad that in this day and age, if faced with an utterly terrible ordeal or medical dilemma, that as an Irish woman and mother, I do not have a voice. I do not have a say. I do not have a right to my own body. And my surgeons or doctors do not have the right to help me if the procedure I need happens to be a termination.

None of us know what is ahead of us. I do not have a clue what is ahead of me. I don’t know what is ahead of my daughters. I don’t know what lies ahead for my siblings. I don’t have a clue what is going on in the lives of my friends. I do not know what other women face, have faced or WILL face in the future. NOR DO YOU.

If I were to find myself pregnant tomorrow, aren’t I lucky that I’d be happy about it?

But tell me this. If early in the pregnancy, a medical professional were to tell me that my worst nightmare were a possibility; that if I continue with the pregnancy, there is a certainty that not only would the fetus die, but possibly, so would I; would I happily accept my Irish constitutional requirements to give my life and body up to the 8th? Would I lie back and think of Ireland?

Would I hell.

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If you think for one second that I would make the choice to leave my beautiful daughters without their Mum, or my husband without his wife, or my parents without their daughter… my friends, you couldn’t be more wrong. And yet, when we’re not in the situation, NONE of us know what we would do, do we?

But how important it would be to have a choice.

There’s that word again. CHOICE.

Unfortunately, in our progressive and wonderful little country, this Mamma Bear would not have that choice. There would be no choice. Not here anyway. Not in the land of opportunity and equality and freedom… Not if you’re a pregnant woman.

And suddenly, without warning, I too would be a statistic. I too would be one of the many, many thousands of women who have to make the horrific, demeaning and absolutely cruel journey across the Irish Sea to seek help from our neighbours. I would be in the same boat…or on the same plane…because the journey for termination is not exclusive to class or age or job or marital status.

Any woman, from any background, for a multitude of reasons can find themselves on that journey. Never mind dealing with the emotional hell of making such a decision, they are damned for it by our society.

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To be PRO-CHOICE does not mean that you are Pro-Abortion.

You can be a mother and still be pro-choice.

You can be Grandmother and be pro-choice.

You can be a father and be pro-choice. Because guess what? This affects men too. It affects the men who will hold their partner’s hands when faced with the words none of us ever want to hear.

It affects the husbands who are helpless to save their unborn baby or their wife. It affects Fathers. It affects brothers. It affects sons. There are so many situations where these men can be faced with losing one of the women in their life. None of them include choice for the man OR the woman.

So if you are a man, do not think that this is a problem for the women. If you are a woman, who thinks that it doesn’t concern you, think ahead. It might. If you are on the fence, get off it. No one is asking us to legalize random abortion for all. No one is asking us to agree with it. All that we are being asked to do, is to make a choice to GIVE a choice, to our daughters, to our nieces, to our sisters…and maybe even to ourselves.

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Choice. I’ve made my choice to write this. If you’ve made the choice to read it, thank you. You also have the choice to decide whether to agree with me or not. I would never insist that you agree with me. That is not how I am.

I also however, would not attack or criticise you for your choice even if it is different to mine. If you disagree, that is your choice. No one is forcing you to agree. No one will make you. It’s yours already. It feels good doesn’t it? To have a choice?

You also have a voice. Use it.

(Maria Rushe March 2018)