I am Safety First, Logic Later Mum

What Mammy sees vs What Daddy sees…

mememumdad

Yesterday, we were exploring our beautiful county, as we love to do.

We were on beaches, we found the Boardwalk, we drove off the main roads and over mountains. And as we passed Loch Salt, Mammy said to Daddy “Let’s pull in and have a look over the Glen.”

Silly Mammy.

We got out, jacketed up and started to wander.

Himself and Mini-Me took off up the hill, their big long legs like deer, bouncing over the wild landscape.

Myself and Short-Bum had to move a bit more slowly, with her taking a bit more care on the uneven and new floor below her.

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Me and Princess

I looked up to see Himself and Mini-Me standing on the horizon, in the distance, FAR too far away from me for my liking.

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They weren’t as far away as it looks, but in my head? MILES!

From where I stood, it looked like they were on a cliff, standing perilously close to the edge of a sharp cliff which obviously, they were going to fall off… In reality, there was lots of ground around them and of course they were in absolutely NO danger, whatsoever.

Still, Mamma Bear felt that unwelcome surge of Mamma-Bear-dom where I needed to get closer.

“Hi Mammy, Look at us!” shouts Mini-Me.

“Hi Darling. Be careful!” singsongs Mammy

I am inwardly screaming “GETDOWN GETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWN!” and wondering why many long years of marriage hasn’t yet qualified us for psychic abilities so he can hear me threatening in my brain “HUSBAND, I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T GET MY CHILD OFF THAT FECKING NON-CLIFF IMMEDIATELY!”

Instead, myself and Princess make our way over to them where yes, I can see and confirm that they are perfectly safe.  I even managed to stop my inner shaking to snap some truly beautiful photographs.

“OK it’s time to come down now!” says Me, hoping the panic and fear isn’t obvious to the girls.

“Not at all! Come up so you can see this properly” says Twat boy, clearly oblivious to the utter panic that, (for no real reason) is seeping through my pores.

“It’s time to come down please. NOW!” says Me. (Frantic eyebrows not being observed)

“Pass Princess up to me so I can let HER see!” says HIM.

ARE YOU HAVING A LAUGH? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? NOOOOOOOOOO! NOT HAPPENING. FECK OFF DADDY BEAR…

“No. She’s fine here with me thanks.”

It was bad enough watching the big girl up there, out of my reach.   I’m aware that I can not pass my dislike of heights on to my girls, so I can stay quiet knowing that she has a bit of sense and knows to stay close to Daddy, holding his hand and that she won’t go too close to the edge.

The Threenager who thinks she’s a Ninja however?  No.  She is not stepping even one inch away from me.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the exchange.  There may have been expletives and growls and a short argument about me being ridiculous and him being a twat, but soon, we started back down the mountain, both cubs perfectly safe and Mammy seething like a she-witch at Daddy’s inability to see what the problem was.

Yes, I WAS being completely irrational and completely ridiculous.

NO, of COURSE Daddy would never put them in any danger or in harm’s way.

They were both perfectly safe and in absolutely NO DANGER whatsoever.  They were with their Daddy, who would never let anything happen them.

But the long and the short of it is, I wasn’t comfortable with my babies being out of my reach.  I have an overactive imagination at the best of times. While he saw a fun opportunity for #makingmemories with his girls on top of a mountain, I saw a full on, slow-motion trauma play out, as my imagination foresaw them plummeting off said mountain in my mind.

I’m also a big believer in following your gut.

While things like this never usually bother me, (I’m quite adventurous usually and I encourage them to do things that I wouldn’t do) for some reason, yesterday, it did.  It didn’t only bother me.  It absolutely TERRIFIED me. I had genuine FEAR. And when a Mamma Bear gets THAT level of fear in her belly, she must act on it.

A few Mums replied to my instastory last night by sending me similar snaps of THEIR Hims with their minions in similar situations.  So it seems that it’s a thing? Maybe it’s confidence that Daddy knows he can protect them. Maybe it’s just logic and rationale. Maybe it’s just MEN!

But I don’t think it means that we’re cowards or silly or chicken or anything else.  I think that we are Mammas and we just see things a bit differently, especially when it comes to our wee cubs.

The journey home was quiet. 🙂 We got home safely and everyone had a wonderful day. But even looking at the snaps last night, I don’t feel like I over-reacted. Because keeping them safe is all that matters and if I have to throw an absolute strop on top of a mountain, indeed I shall.

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I cwimbed a mountain Daddy!

 

I am Same Clothes Forever Mum

“We won’t get much longer dressing them in matching outfits” says Me to He as we walked along the promenade in Salou.  We were on the last night of our holidays and the girls had been wearing beautifully matching outfits every evening for the full week.

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With 4 years age difference, I’ve been becoming aware that Mini-Me will soon protest at  being dressed identically to her 3 year old sister.  And I was OK with that.

But then, something happened that has ensured and concreted the plan in my head, that while we are away in strange places, they shall be wearing matching clothes, until they are AT LEAST 35 years old.

Princess went missing.

Ladybelles.  She ran out of our sight and literally disappeared. In an EMPTY FOYER.

She was gone for about 7 minutes. 7 Loooooooooooong minutes. And I can honestly tell you they were the longest, most painfully dreadful 7 minutes of my life.  While trying to remain composed to FIND her, my brain had already jumped ahead to what would need to happen to get her found.

We were walking back to our rooms after the entertainment had finished.  A friend and his kids were along with us, and as we all waked through the hall to head towards the lifts, I made a MASSIVE mistake.  I caught the glint in her eye and said “Wait for Mammy please” which she heard as “Run Princess RUN!”

She scuttled off ahead of us, no more than 20 feet into what we knew was an empty foyer and when we all turned the half corner, there she was…gone.

We started calling.  Him belted up the stairs and started running through the halls on each floor, roaring her name.  The friend ran straight to the main door to ensure she hadn’t gone outside.  I started hitting the buttons for the lifts, automatically all assuming that she’d gone into one of the lifts and that it had gone up with her inside. (Fast closing wee buggers those lifts.)

Mini-Me started to roar and cry and Friend’s kids didn’t know what to do,  Wee pets.

She wasn’t outside.

She wasn’t in the lifts.

Every 20 seconds Him stuck his head over another balcony, roaring “Did you get her?” before taking off to the next floor.

Within 1 minute, the hotel staff had locked all the main doors and maybe 5 other dads had joined in the running.

Why will they always be dressing the same? Because every time someone else joined us to help, I was able to point at Mini-Me and say “She’s wearing the same outfit” and off they ran…

Just when I thought it was beyond a case of her innocently getting lost, and was about to step Mental Mammy up a notch, a big bald English guy stuck his head over the balcony and asked “Are you guys playing Hide n Seek with a little girl?”

The poor fecker was greeted with a herd of people running at him and some sort of gutteral wail that I’m pretty sure was coming from my mouth, even though I had no real control at that point.

I took those steps 5 at a time and met Himself on the corner of the big long corridor and there, peeking her curly little fecker head out from behind an corner, was Princess.  Half laughing, half terrified and by the time I reached her to scoop her into my arms, half sobbing.

We thanked everyone, went to the room, tucked them in and then did what all parents would do… sat on the balcony like two weins and cried for an hour.

But the scariest thing was that she was with a gang of adults, in a safe place, with no crowds and she still went missing right in front of our eyes.

Next morning, Mini-Me scolded her at breakfast.

“You shouldn’t go into the lift on your own.  It’s not funny.”

Princess looked at her as if she were absolutely insulted.

“I did NOT go in the lift” she admonished. “I went up the stairs.” before continuing to eat her porridge as if THAT made it all alright.

Oh well that’s OK then I suppose… Seriously.

Lessons learned? We only think we’re in charge, kids are fast, other parents are incredibly fast at helping when you need it… and matching clothes should be worn at all times, for the foreseeable forever.

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I am Shopping Mum

When did shopping turn into such a gauntlet?
 
I’ve never been a huge shopping fan, but recent experiences have confirmed to me that I actually HATE it.
 
I hate, hate, hatey McHaterson it. 
 
Last week I was lucky enough to have a few hours to wander around huge shopping centres in both Dublin and Belfast. 
 
Imagine the novelty for Mammy-Amazon here, whose clothes shopping generally consists of sportsgear or the odd binge buy in Dunnes-of-the-fablis, (usually on pay day before the Direct Debit Bandits have hit and I descend back into brokedom.) 
 
“I am in the city. I shall shop”, think I.
 
“I shall shop like the Fashionable Bloggers do.  I shall purchase cool and quirky stuffs which I might even share by doing one of those terrifying Haul things that they all do.”
 
But then, I laugh at the sillyfullness of such a thought.  Who wants to see what Mammy picks up in shops?  
 
In go I to the Debbienems… the mothership of mothershops in all corners of the civilised world. 
 
My eyes hurt instantly.  The lights…Christ alive!  Am I in surgery or a shop?
 
The evil yellow glare lights used to be only reserved for changing rooms and hairdressers.  Now it seems that they are par-for-the-course in every corner on every floor of these big bright shops… perhaps a way to highlight the few of us who still dare to enter such establishments with nout but mascara on our faces? 
 
I catch a glimpse of my naked face and tracksuit in one of the mirrors and I feel instantly less confident in my own skin than I did leaving the hotel. 
I thought I looked rather comfy-chic. I thought my swinging pony tail and make up free skin made me look slightly Yummy-Mummiful…
shopping

The OPPOSITE of how I look when shopping

 
Turns out that even in my spensive leeeeezure wear, I actually look like a knackered, sleep-deprived, hungover SkankQueen.  I’d look more at home on Jeremy Kyle’s sofa truth be told.  
 
I am now convinced that I look like I’m about to shop lift the entire contents of the Benefit counter and I’m pretty sure that the shop assistants (perfectly preened and practically perfect in every way) are clustering closer to me as their Radar for criminal cretins goes off.  They’re watching me.  I know they are.
 
Then I realize, they want to torment me.  On every corner, another eyebrow asks me “Can I help you Dear?”  or “Do you need any help today Luv?”  It’s like being at home.  There’s a little person on every corner talking AT me and asking me pointless questions.  One even shoves a little pink basket in my hand, for heaven forbid I might only want ONE THING in the muck up section.  I know they’re only doing their job but Dear Jacinta, I just want to BROWSE!
 
Remember when you used to be able to wander aimlessly around the shops, browsing, looking, buying…not buying?
 
Remember when you could go to the checkout and simply pay for your purchase with nothing more than a polite smile and a thank you? 
 
And then you could leave, swinging the bag with your purchase and simply continue on your shopping…or not shopping?
 
Yeah.  Those days are gone my Darlings. 
 
And then…the WEIRDEST part.  It’s been creeping in to the shops at home too.  It makes me uncomfortable.  I find it a little invasive if I’m honest.  
 
“Do you have an email address?” 
 
“I do yeah.”
 
“Can I have it?”
 
“Oh…why?”
 
“So I can send you your receipt? Because of the environment and all?”
 
“Oh of course…” is what I SAY, before rhyming off the suddenly very hard to fecking spell email address.  (Seriously, none of us EVER considered that we’d be standing at tills in Debbieneems spelling OUT the feckin things when we created them.  We thought they’d always be, well, TYPED!)
 
What I want to say is “And what about GDPR? How can I be sure that YOU are not the reason that I get so many weird marketing emails from companies to which I’m pretty sure I NEVER subscribed? Can you not just print me off my receipt like a normal shop assistant so I can throw it into the bag or the car where it will lay for many months creating a tiny thesis of how and why I am always broke,  Little physical REMINDERS of what money USED to look like.”
 
  I swear to Granny, between Tap machines and Virtual receipts, I don’t even think it COUNTS as spending money any more.  There is NO evidence really…
 
And so I decide that I shall set up a NEW email address, just for the very PURPOSE of shopping.  It shall be emailaddress@ihateshopping.com   That’d be fun…
 
HAH!
 
Moral of the story?  
 
I HATE SHOPPING.
(I’m glad my laptop doesn’t yet have eyebrows to raise.
 
 
 

Some Time, Sometimes

💙Some Time, Sometimes💙

We’ve “no time” for dancing, We’ve “no time” to sing.
We can’t play that game or go play on the swing.
There’s washing and cooking and things to be done
And sometimes the last thing we think of is fun.
And this is all normal and life does get busy,
But if it’s so hectic it’s making you dizzy,
It’s time to consider the things that mean more,
The small things we all take for granted, I’m sure.Like breathing and laughing and reading and such,
Like the fact that our lives are each made up of much,
much more than our jobs or our grades or successes.
They’re made up of giggles and family and messes,
Of routines and drop offs, of friends and of breaks,
Of worries and stresses, of plans and heartaches.
If we knew every morning, what would lay ahead,
There are mornings we’d probably stay in our beds.
But know, we do not. Of nothing we’re sure,
Except that we’re here and have one morning more.So take all the compliments, laugh all the time,
Always give hugs and sometimes drink wine.
Build all the jigsaws, take all the smiles.
Walk in the countryside, drive one more mile,
Say if you’re sorry, cry if you’re sad,
Don’t waste time fighting. Fighting is bad..
Look at the sky and take time to see
the colours and patterns, reflect on the sea.
Don’t waste time worrying about what MAY be
Think of your present. Enjoy memories.
Follow your dreams, Make all the plans,
Never let anyone tell you you can’t.
And while we have problems and things might go badly,
Remember that others would swap with us gladly.So if you love someone, please make sure that you say;
Tell them and give them memories to replay,
Because we just never know when that last hug or kiss
is being given. So make sure it’s one you don’t miss.
Breathe it all in and live life as you must,
Be kind and polite and remember to trust.
Travel and wonder and read all the books
See all the beauty we’d see if we looked.
When life is good, live it, and take every chance
And never look back wishing that you had danced.Leave “no song unsung and no wine untasted”
For time spent being happy is never time wasted.
So play all the games and run to the swing
And always make time to dance and to sing.Maria Rushe
(Jan 2018)

Twas the night before Showtime

And all through the land

The show bags were being packed

And the nerves were in hand.

The ladies were sorting their makeup and looks

While the men sorted costumes and polished their shoes.

The lines were all learned and the songs were on loop

In the brains of the chorus who