I am Sunshine and Suncream Mum

Oh it is sunshiny and fablis. 😎😎
Oh how wonderful.😎
Let us drive home with Stepford Mammy notions of pottering in the garden, topping up our Vitamin D, naming flowers and passing on our memories of nature walks and such. Let us have a light, sunnyful,  salady dinner and let the children run free while we watch and adore them from the poofy lounger. And then, let them be so exhausted from their frolicking and pottering, that they snuggle down for a long sleep, full of the joys of summer and sunkissed and freckled, smelling of the great outdoors…
Good Mammy.
Now let us be realistic. 😅
Yes, we may drive home full of these notions, but notions they are, and only notions.
In reality, let’s collect the minions, tired and cranky from the heat at play/school, let us put them in a car of approximately 31° even with the windows down, for them to get MORE cranky and sweaty on the way home. Let us have a complete fecking meltdown when you offer icecream but end up with ice-POPS because the cone machine has had fecking heart attack at its sudden overuse. Let us try to get the homework done, because Clever Mammy knows that whatever chance we have of getting it done NOW, there is precisely feck all chance of it being done once the pottering commences.
Let us wrestle more suncream onto the two wrigglers, before having a quiet and peaceful 😂😂standoff with the Mini-Me about putting ON her hat,  while the Princess insists on removing HER hat to EAT IT at 3 minute intervals.
 Let is not even think about sitting one’s Stepford Mummy posterier on a lounger, poofy or not, because “Pottering” with a wobbler ACTUALLY means following the little turdler, 3 steps behind, lifting her away from the dog’s bowl and racing her to the gate 16 times in 6 minutes, wondering how her fat little legs are so fast?  😥
Then, let us realise that unless you have a fecking COOK residing in your home, having a light summery etc dinner, STILL requires Mammy to go inside to COOK IT. And going for pizza would require gettinto the car again… nope! 😭
And so begins the END of the “pottering”, and the beginning of ARMAGETTIN…which is where you forcibly remove the suncream clad, slippery, sun stricken, cranky, exhausted and very fecking happy wobbler from the sunshine, by grabbing her in your ARMS and (trying to) GET IN!  

Armagettin. 😅😅
Let us then rejoice in the fact that Iggle Piggle is working his blue bottomed magic in the corner and let us spend the next hour feeding the kids who are two fecking HOT to eat anyway and looking longingly at the sunshine that you can’t get out to, and watching the clock, wishing it to be bedtime so that we can steal the last 30 minutes of sunshine for ourselves.
Let us love this weather, but let is not fool ourselves.  

Stepford Mammies we are not.
It’s not all pottering and gleefully finding bugs in the “gawden Dahling”.  Sometimes it’s a suncreamy, slippery, cranky sesspit of overheated mayhem, that will ultimately lead to 2 sticky, smelly and happily knackered minions CRASHING from a combination of sunshine and heat, and the need for all the bedsheets to be washed in the morning. 

(Trust me, THAT is easier than trying to bath these two tonight! 

Feral I tell you…😍😍😂😂)
And THEN, let us sup on cold grapes and enjoy the not so sunshiny, but still quite lovely evening, in the suncream free company of my boychild. 👇👇👇

Have a good one Lovelies. 😂😂😂

I am Stupid teething Mum

S-Mum  is VERRRRRY tired.

Princess had her first restless night in ages. Stupid teeth. 😠😠 The wee dote had a raging temperature all night and would have sucked the full tube of bonjella had I let her.  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? 😩😩
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.  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.💪💪💪
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.  Yes carrots.  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.  Especially when the tooth is almost through.)

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

Shopping list so far:👇

Calpol.

Neurofen.

Teetha granules.

Bonjela.

Gin…

Have a Sassy Saturdays Bitcheepooooos 😎😎

I am Sick Baby Mum

SickChildHow do I know when my Mini-Me is sick?  Because I take her temperature?  Because I know the symptoms? Because the doctor says so? Because I just know?

No. (Well OK, Yes.)

But, I know that my particular Mini Me is particularly out of sorts because she presses pause on her life’s mission of convincing me that she hates me, and for just a short time she won’t let me out of her sight!

As the mummy of a Threenager, I am now becoming used to the fact that to her, I am Public Enemy Number 1.  When Mammy says no, she runs to her “wee Daddy Bear” or Granny, or Uncle, or indeed the Dog.  I have caught her sitting beside the beast that is our 6 year old puppy, filling him in on how bold Mammy is.

She uses Mammy to test her boundaries, to learn to use her voice, to establish her tone and to practice all of her communication skills.  Yesterday, she moved on to giving me my full title to denote her discontentment…”Mammy Ria Wushe!” It was quite impressive actually.

I’m often reminded of one of my favourite poems by Sylvia Plath, “Morning song”.  For years, I’ve been teaching the lines

“I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.”

…And while I have always understood the lines, until I became a Mammy, I never really understood them.

I understand them now: I’m nothing but a big puddle into which she sticks her chubby little toe to test the waters of life.

dipping-toe-in-pool-of-possibility

She uses me to learn how to assert herself, and she does it so well that Hubby even admitted this afternoon that she’s a little bit scary!  She uses me to develop her social skills, to suss out how relationships work.  I am her metaphoric punch bag: her dress rehearsal.

So when Mini Me spends two whole days on the sofa, refusing to let me out of her sight; when she says the words “Mammy I neeeeeeed you.” at least a dozen times a day; when I can’t even leave the room long enough to pee without her calling for me…that’s when I know she’s not herself.  That’s how I know that she’s ailing for something or just not feeling her best.

It might come before the temperature or the sniffles or the trip to the doctor.  It might last the whole length of whatever nasty little bug she’s picked up this time.  It might be exhausting, especially at 3am.  But it’s how I’m reminded that despite being her arch nemesis most of the time, I am indeed her Mammy and she loves me.

And I’ll happily admit that while I obviously enjoy hugs and snuggles without the bugs and sniffles, I’ll sit on that sofa in my PJs watching re-runs of RTE Junior until my little Peppa Piggy is better and wants to go splashing in those muddy puddles again.

I am Sick Baby Mum. 🙂peppa