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“Mam-Me Time” at The Silver Tassie Hotel & Seascape Spa – Review

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The Silver Tassie Hotel has been a family favourite with my parents since I was a child. We’ve have many family events and two family weddings there. The Him and I have stayed many times and always delight in being invited to weddings or functions in their ballroom.

Once upon a time, this Mammy spent summers pulling pints behind the bar there too. Rightfully, The Silver Tassie is known as one of the gems of Donegal; a family run affair which can easily combines chic, country coziness with contemporary glitz and class.

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So when they invited my Mum and I to celebrate International Women’s Day with them at their Seascape Spa , followed by Afternoon Tea in their Conservatory, we were only delighted to say yes.

We had some of their Spring Treatments in the spa and then had an Amazing Afternoon Tea It was much needed after a few very busy weeks and we thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon.

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The current Spring Specials

We arrived to the spa to a friendly and efficient welcome, where we filled out the usual forms and were shown to our changing room. Mum headed off with her therapist, Martina, for the Perfect Retreat which by all accounts, was exactly what it said on the tin. She said that the Indian Head Massage was the best she’d ever had.

Lovely Heavy Robes
Only Half of my Treatment Room

Alison took me for my treatment which was the Voya Mindul Touch package. I’ve had many massages in my time; some good, some that left me needing physio afterwards. But this was wonderful. The hot stone massage was incredible. My neck and back were in bits when I went in. By the time Alison was finished working her magic, my back felt like warm butter.

The Treatment Rooms are Gorgeous
I don’t usually take my phone to the bath…

I then stepped into the Seaweed Bath. I’ve had this in Seascape before and every time I sink down into the water, I ask myself why I don’t do it more often. I love the slimy feeling of the seaweed on my skin. I love the smell. I love the exfoliation of some of the weed and I love how silky my skin feels afterwards.

We were then shown to the relaxation room which had a selection of teas and fruit. A little bowl of sorbet was a lovely touch and very welcomed after the treatments.

The Relaxation Room
Sorbet

The Seascape has it right on so many levels. It’s a boutique spa, intimate and calm. The decor is classy and subtle and the smells are a sensory treat throughout. They offer special packages throughout the year and can adapt many treatments for pregnant ladies. The therapists also specialise in treatments for people who are fighting, or have fought, cancer.

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Proper Bum Coverers!

Can I also say that they also have proper disposable Ninkernankers! Not the teeny tiny cheesegrater/dentalfloss type that are virtually invisible and therefore quite pointless. Proper comortable disposable pants, for all bum sizes. Very important.

What Mum and I both agreed on is that the spa is accessible to everyone. It’s one of the few spas where you don’t have to wear a swimsuit and can keep your robe on at all times, and so is perfect for women who perhaps don’t love the prospect of parading about in a swimsuit or bikini. The Seascape is dignified and subtle for anyone.

Yes, I know this isn’t an issue for all women, but there are many who say no to spa trips with friends simply because of the fear of having to get undressed or be semi-naked. If that is something that you can empathise with, try the Seascape. And bring your friends.

I love this space…
Beautiful

After our treatments, we went into the conservatory of the hotel where we were served a beautiful afternoon tea. There may have been enough food for 4 people, but Mum and I managed! The conservatory is spacious and elegant and the table setting was stunning.

Three trays of treats awaited. The bottom tray had open sandwiches; one with goat’s cheese and chutney, one with smoked chicken and one with smoked salmon and prawn. Divine.

Fresh, warm scones with jam and cream sat on the second tray, and the top tray had a selection of fruit, chocolates, profiteroles and sweet bites. The tea was served in a huge pot, perfect for Mammy Bear, and the coffee was so good, I asked for a second pot!

Open Sandwiches
Warm Scones
Fancies

It really was a lovely experience and it’s right outside Letterkenny. We could actually see our houses across the Swilly while we ate our tea.

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Pinky Out

The Spring Specials are available all month and afternoon tea can be booked at reception on 0749125619.

And don’t forget that it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday 31st. This would be the perfect treat for you, or for the special lady in your life.

As stated, we were invited guests of the Silver Tassie Hotel, however as always, my review is my own. I was under no obligation to write it and my account of our experience is honest.

Let’s Hear It For The Girls…Disney Princesses and All!

Posted in Being Me, Uncategorized by

Here’s to all the strong and powerful women on International Women’s Day…and EVERY DAY!

Kiera Knightly once broke t-interweb with her announcement that she had banned her three year old daughter from watching The Little Mermaid and Cinderella. She felt that they teach her daughter wrong and even misogynistic lessons; that you need to wait for a man to save you and that you must give up your voice for the man you want…

Kristen Bell has issues with Snow White because of how consent is conveyed in it.

Fair enough. Full valid opinions.

Who are we to judge? If these Mamas don’t want to let their kids watch these movies, that is absolutely 100% THEIR DECISION!

In fact, the portrayal of women in Disney is something I have discussed with my students many, many, many times, and while I agree that many of the traditional “princesses” are frustratingly meek and mild and oh so obedient to their hearts and menfolk, I also am aware that the stories are not the cause of inequality and misogyny in our modern society.

They are only stories; fairytales, make believe… it is HOW we read them that is important.

Yes you can say that Prince Whatshisface kissing Snow White while she was sleeping is wrong. Of course it is, but why do we hone in on that, rather than the previous 60 minutes where she was a servant and cleaner and feck knows what else, for seven little men?

(And does that not insult men, suggesting that seven of them together couldn’t function without a teenage girl to look after them?)

Yes, Cinderella needed magic and spells and fab shoes to get her prince. And ‘tut’ to her that she needed a man to save her, but such was the world, the IMAGINARY world, in which she lived.

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Shakespeare wrote some of the most incredibly females in history. Lady Macbeth calls upon evil spirits to “Unsex me here” because obviously she couldn’t be evil as she was a woman. (Any men getting offended here?)

And then he also wrote Ophelia, who is worse and more weak and frustrating that ANY Disney Princess in the world. Don’t start me on Ophelia…

Portia save the day when a crowd of men made a mess of everything… and then he went and ruined it all by having her marry her Prince Charming, after saving his ass. Bad Shakespeare…

Desdemona, Emilia and even the ‘strumpet’ Bianca fuel many a vehement debate in Othello… I’d argue that these three women are the only sources of strength in the text.

Shakespeare actually wrote women who were breaking the societal and cultural norm in the time in which he lived. Glass ceilings if you will…

But we don’t ban our teenagers from reading Shakespeare do we? In fact, we encourage it because we know that they can recognise the injustices and gender issues for themselves. Because we’ve given them those skills.

As for the Disney classics, remember that Cinderella and Snow White and The Little Mermaid were written in the early 1800s… of course their messages and social concepts are different to ours.

We however, get to choose how we read them.

And while there are valid arguments about the negative messages some of the classics send out, there are also plenty positives…and a few weird things, to pay attention to.

Cinderella was good and kind and she felt good in new, sparkly shoes.

She also spoke to mice and birds.

Snow White was happy that Prince Whatshisface kissed her. He saved her and she was quite thrilled. She wasn’t dragged off kicking and screaming to the castle to live happily ever after, was she?

The Little Mermaid was a defiant strong-willed rascal, who followed her heart. Her best friends were also a crab and a fish… so let’s differentiate reality from fairytale.

Our daughters are no fairytale princesses. They will not NEED to wait for a man to save them. They will be able to look after themselves. They will be self-sufficient and well able to provide for themselves, to follow their dreams, to be “anything they want to be”… but can we stop already with telling them that they DON’T need to be girly?

Yes, of course our daughters can be pilots. Of course they can be engineers. By all means encourage our daughters to believe that they can achieve anything they dream of and work for, but why do we need to tell them that being girly or wearing pink or dreaming of being a movie star are signs of weakness?

What the feck is wrong with wanting to be a movie star? Are Meghan Markle or KatyBaby failures because they found their Princes? I’m not a fan of the Royals in general, but what I see are two strong, determined women who have given up a hell of a lot for the man they love. (I wrote this 2 years ago…this example packs a much bigger punch right now.)

My daughters love dresses. They love sparkles. They love makeup and dressing up and singing and being all round princesses. They also love superheros, dressing up as Hulk, football and Pokemon and they play ninjas and wrestle.

There is no “That is for girls” or “That is for boys” in our house.

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Because that is not how to teach our children equality.

I like football. I like MMA. I swear more than a lady should. I can hold my own when I train alongside the menfolk in our gymand I prefer Marvel movies to Chickflicks. In my work and projects, I take no prisoners and do not see any man as better than me.

And yet, I love to do all things “girly” too. and I love to dress up and I like sparkly shoes.

Does that make me less?

Does the fact that I like pink and glitter and girly stuff make me weak?

Because it seems to me that we’ve gone beyond telling girls they can be anything, we’ve gotten to the point that being girly is snubbed and scoffed at and actually looked down upon.

Well not on my watch.

I dress up and get my girly on, for me. Not for my Him or for anyone else. For me.

Because I am comfortable with who I am. And let me tell you, there is NO ONE who has watched as many Disney movies in their childhood (and still), as Me!

And my daughters will do what they want, how they want, Prince Charming or no Prince Charming, but they certainly will not be banned from watching Disney Movies, because all they see is a mermaid who sings songs and fights evil octopus monsters.

It’s a movie.

If you want your daughters to grow up strong and independent, teach them to be strong and independent…point out how old fashioned some of those Princesses are. (not all of them, for the newer ones are WICKED! Merida, Mulan, Ana anyone?)

And teach them that to be feminist does not mean hater of men. It means equality for all. It means being able to stand up for themselves and to be a strong and independent woman, who can change the world and kick ass…whether in trousers and flats or in a skirt and glittery heels.

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Wear the pink, wear the glitter, wear the lipstick. Or don’t if you don’t want to …

But be yourself and be strong and don’t let others tell you that you’re wrong.

And then you might just live happily ever after.

Happy #Internationalwomensday

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The World Book Day Fear

Posted in Being Mammy, Uncategorized by

As Mothers, we experience many, many, many fears…

Fear during pregnancy.

Fear of birth.

Fear every day…

But once a year, in early March, for many of us, there is a special fear.

It’s the fear of realising that it’s World Book Day…and you’ve sent your children off to school in NORMAL clothes.

This morning, I managed to get the girls out to school with unusual calm and minimal drama.  I dropped them at pre-school and to the bus, and tottered on my merry, knackered way on to my other job-job.

I parked the car and reached for my phone to have a quick peek at my messages before going into the building.  I hit the Insta icon, and speed scrolled absent mindedly… and then I saw them.

ALL of them…

All of the eleventy squillion images of kids I know and don’t know, dressed in all sorts of book characters, from Mr Twit to Mary-of-the-Poppins.

“FAAAAAAAACK!” I shout at my phone.

“FAAAACKIITTY FUCK FUCK!”

I scramble through my brain for faint memories of an unread message from the school about dressing up. Nope.

I try to remember if I saw a conversation about costumes on the parenty ‘Wattsup’ group…  I really can’t.

I then have the tummy wrenching realisation that as a “Working-at-a-job-job Mum” who has just returned from a 4 day work trip 8734 miles away, that maybe, just MAYBE I have simply fucked up and MISSED something.

The Fear is real.

And the Mammy guilt that is already strong this week has multiplied ten fold.

I send a message to the parents group begging “Were the kids supposed to dress up today?”  followed by “By which I mean, please tell me that they kids WERE NOT supposed to dress up today!?”

Even as I type, I am trying to figure out how I can get her Harry Potter costume transported from the house to the school in the next 14 minutes.

I’m trying to gauge if I could get to Penneysbest at break time to buy a stripy jumper to make her Wally, or an oversized fluffy jacket to make her The Gruffallo.  Then I realise that the only Wally is me.

Just as I’m practising my “Sure you were Matilda Darling” speech for this evening,  one of the other Mammy angels replies with “No costumes!”

I swear to God, the relief left me dizzy.  I realised I was sweating like Mr Wormwood in a confessional box.  My breathing was faster than Hermione’s when someone broke a rule.  I was paler than Horrid Henry when, well… you get me yeah?

I had The World Book Day Costume Fear!

But, I fear that the only Wally on this World Book Day, was Mammy.

 

That Time When I Wasn’t in Charge

Posted in Being Me, Uncategorized by

Every mum has their own vivid memories of childbirth; some which bring little shivers of joy when we think of them; others which deserve to be put into a secret box and never brayed of tongue again.

For me, the arrival of my wee angel and the shock that she was not after all, a he, are obviously my favourite memories of the experience.  But there is one other moment that I often think of.  It makes me laugh out loud every time.

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I still feel a trickle of mortification creep onto my cheeks when I think of it.  Because, that moment, just before my little one arrived, was the moment when I finally had to admit to myself, that I was not in charge…of anything.

I had to have a c-section. I was ready and prepared.

Everything was calm and organized and exactly how I’d imagined it would be. (I grew up on a farm, so have witnessed dozens of MamaCows go through this procedure, so I was stupidly sure that I knew the basic concept of what would happen!) The doctors would perform surgery and Mini-Me would come out the sunroof, as opposed to out the door.

I’d never had surgery before, so of course I was nervous.  As I lay there, looking up at the bright spaceship lights on the ceiling, listening to the murmurs of the surgeons and anesthetist and nurses, aware of the beeping machines around me, I had a sudden recollection of the story of a woman who felt everything as the anesthetic hadn’t worked.

In my obviously, absolutely calm, reasonable and logical mind, I realized that this would OBVIOUSLY be what would happen to me.

I felt cold substance on my leg, which jerked me back from my reverie.

“1-10?”

“Sorry?”

“On a scale of 1-10, how cold is this?”

“Erm, 10”

Cripes, where the heck was my husband?

“1-10″

“Still 10″

Ok, so now my fears were becoming a reality.

“Now?”

“8, I suppose”

Who should I tell that the anesthetic isn’t working?

What if I needed some sort of horse tranquilizer to knock my nerve endings out of action. I need to get my husband in so he can sort this…Hang on!  Who owns those legs?!

Two huge, gleaming, white tree-trunk legs are floating in front of me, just above the blue divide that Mr. Surgeon has placed above my belly.  Two very strong women are holding one each and I’m suddenly aware that the legs are indeed, mine.  There’s a serious amount of maneuvering being done beyond the blue, but the top half of my torso is happily oblivious.

And so I began to laugh.  Not a subtle giggle of course. A proper crazy woman, high on a cocktail of all of the anesthetic and other drugs that I assumed weren’t going to work.

And hence, my poor husband re-entered the room, just in time for the arrival of the Boss, to find his wife laughing like a bloody hyena.

Of course, the laughing turned quickly to tears of joy and all was right with the world again very soon afterwards.

I’d had my first ever surgery.  I’d had my first baby.  And I’d learned for the first time, that even though I thought I was in charge of things, I really and truly wasn’t.

I genuinely believe it was one of those precious moments of clarity and insight, It taught me one of the most important lessons I need to be a Mammy.

You might think you’re in charge.  You can pretend you’re in charge.  You might even convince others that you are in charge, but really, we never know when someone’s going to take control of your big white legs.

And when they do, be glad that they’re there to take control… and don’t forget to laugh.

 

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Still an Issue – Bump Shaming

Posted in Being Me, Uncategorized by

It’s Memory Monday…

Body Shaming happens to all women, of all ages, of all shapes and sizes, all the time…EVEN, believe it or not, during Pregnancy. 😲
Yes, Pregnancy…
You know that time when you are eating for two and are supposed to GLOW like a fricken Christmas Tree and your body is a temple of growth and nurture, for all to admire and be in awe of?

When you’re also a hormonal wreck, paranoid, vulnerable and particularly susceptible to tears? 😢😢

When you’re growing a PERSON inside of you; sometimes more than one, 😥and you are supposed to be officially exempt from giving a continental crap about your shape for the next year and more?
Yes. Even then.

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Body shaming the Bump DOES happen.

It’s not usually intentional, but it happens.
I have a confession to make.
During my last pregnancy… (and I mean last in both senses of that word!)…I did something mean. 😈
I got so fecking SICK of people freaking out when they saw the size of my bump, that one day I decided to have a little fun with it.
I was HUMONGOUS. (And no, I am NOT exaggerating. Ask ANY of my family or friends and they will smile a dim smile and nod in agreement.) And just to prove how big my perfect bump was, the photograph below was taken when I was 36 weeks. And I wasn’t quite as big as I would be at 39! 😂👇👇👇👇👇👇

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With Mini-Me, I showed at 10 weeks.

With Princess, I got to 7 weeks before I got fed up trying to hide my bump.

I have always been quite slim so in fairness, trying to hide a bump was never going to be easy, but even loose tops didn’t cover my little (or not so little) secret.

We never really got the chance to keep it to ourselves until after the 12 week scan, but hey!
So you can imagine how big I was by 30 weeks. I looked bigger than most expectant Mammas look at full term. I remember walking into a shop one day at 31 weeks and the look of panic on the shop assistant’s face when she clocked the BUMP was hilarious. She approached me and flew through the usual chitchat to get straight to her point.
“When are you due love?”

I couldn’t help myself my Pretties. It was out before I even thought about it.
“Ten days ago”, I answered, shaking my head and rubbing my big belly, “I’m hoping a walk around the shops will help get me started.” (added puffs for effect…pause as if wincing in pain…)

“Here let me help you!” I swear to God, she ran around that shop filling my wee basket so quickly, I really couldn’t keep up with her.

“All the best now Lovey, I hope all goes well!” she cooed after me as I left. I’m pretty sure she needed a strong drink after that. and yes, I shouldn’t have lied, but I was fed up.

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For almost 10 months, you become the property of the world. (and yes, it is 10 months…9 my arse.)
EVERYONE has an opinion.

“You’re so HUGE!” (Really? I hadn’t noticed. Is that why my pelvis is dragging on the ground when I walk?)😐
“I was never as big as you!” (Piss off.) 😐
“Aw poor Maria. You must be scundered…” (No Deary. I’m just pregnant.)😐
“Well Tracy SAID you were huge but I didn’t think you were THIS HUGE!” (Yup. For this one, I had to kick my sister under the table to stop her from DESTROYING the unintentionally offensive woman.)😅
“Is it heavy?” (In fairness, this question was from a lovely friend who has bever been pregnant so it was a genuine question and I gave her a genuine answer…”Yes. I feel like I’m carrying an articulated fecking LORRY on my ladybits.”)
“I suppose you can barely move with that bump?” (No. I’m just back from Irish Dancing. I’m high kicking Higher than ever before!)😂
“Aaaaaaah you’re not THAT big!” OK, OK. Who am I kidding? I NEVER heard this one! 😅😂
“You must be nearly due?” (No I’m only 28/30/32/34 weeks…cue shock/horror/sympathy/panic on their face.)
And these are only the few I remember.And so maybe now, you understand why I played the trick.

Do I feel guilty? No, but I felt really fricken frustrated a few weeks later when I didn’t have the balls to go in with my even BIGGER Bump and I really wanted a certain cheese the lady stocked. 😆😆
But seriously, Stop it. We all need to stop it. (And of course I include myself in this. We ALL do it don’t we?)

In fairness, we don’t even realise we’re doing it.

The things we say to a pregnant lady are usually not intending ANY offence AT ALL. Of course not.
But if you’re going to say anything, try not to comment on the bump.
Tell her she looks glowing, even if you think she looks knackered.

Tell her she’s gorgeous, even if she looks like the articulated lorry she feels like she’s carrying.

Tell her it suits her. She might just need to hear that, but don’t comment on the size of the bump, regardless whether it’s big or small.
The Mammy who hears “You’re so neat”, might have spent the whole night up counting baby’s kicks, or panicking that her bump is too small compared to others. 😣

The Mammy who hears “You’re huge!” doesn’t need to be reminded. Trust me, she already knows. She remembered once she opened her eyes this morning and tried, like an upturned turtle, to get out of the bed to pee. 😅
So keep it positive and keep it off the bump.

And yes I know that many people don’t mind and maybe even enjoy the attention the bump brings, but unless you’re telling them their bump is gorgeous, just Ssssssh!
And then…THEN comes the Post Baby body Shaming but that’s another post altogether.
You’re beautiful and your bump is perfect.

That is all you need to hear.

The S-Mum xxx