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​I am Slippy Feet Mum

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Well it’s officially Christmas.  


Jack Frost arrived this morning, the mischievous little fecker, and forced me to have to nearly break in to my own car.  He also forced half of Donegal to reduce their speed, which of course is never a bad thing, unless you reduce it from 100 to approximately 54km/hr on the very LARGE, STRAIGHT and very SALTED road into Letterkenny and hold up all of the rush hour traffic.  
In that case, you’re simply a twatsickle.   
But I digress.
I love Jack-of-the-frost, I do.  

I love the chilled air.  I love seeing breath clouds. I love the glitter. 
I loved seeing the clouds sitting ON the Swilly this morning.  I particularly loved Mini-Me’s expression when she saw this sight and exclaimed “Mammy! The Cwouds are touching the waaaater!”

Cutiepie. 
I was very organised this morning…completely prepared for the frozen car and slippery steps and extra time needed to get down off S-Mumble Hill.  
I’d love to say it’s because I’m Supermum and that it was my maternal instinct that told me, through osmosis obviously, that it would be a frozen morning, or indeed that, like Yeats, somone as infamous as Homer…ormin my case Jack Frost… “came whispering to my mind” warning me to jump out of bed and be a Winter Wondermum…
But in reality it was a text from The Him at 5.45am which read “ROADS SHITE GORGEOUS. BLACK ICE. DON’T BE RUNNING LATE. I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK…XXXXXX”  (No you CAN’T prove that I’ve edited this or exaggerated the content of the text, so there! That’s what Him typed…honest like.)😂
And so I wrapped Princess up like  the fat little spanx-wearing Christmas pudding that she is, got Mini-Me into her new fingered gloves – (that’s another post ALTOGETHER! 😠😠) – and carried them both down the very slippery steps to the car, which I’d EVEN managed to have running for 5 minutes so I wasn’t putting the kids in a fridge.

I am a LION…HEAR ME ROAR! 🦁
Sorted.
I dropped Princess off and headed to drop Mini-Me to the bus. (at 54km remember?)
I was so proud of myself and already planning the accomplished and smug text to The Him when I reached school saying that I was early and that of course I loved him more etc., 😈😅and then as I drove into the carpark, I realised something.
I realised that I had CARRIED Mini-Me out of the house and set her safely into the car.
And then it dawned on me that I, or Himself, have probably ALWAYS carried her in and out of places if it was icy.

And so now, I was dropping her off to get OUT of the car, where she’d  have to WALK BY HERSELF TO the bus, which someone ELSE was driving,

And THEN she’d have to get OFF the fecking bus in a slippery playground and make her wasy to the door ACROSS the playground…
ALL.

BY.

HERSELF.
And my Blood chilled as if Jack-of-the-frost himself had kissed my chapped lips…
I stopped the car and actually had to take a few deep breaths.

How ridiculous am I? 
“This is NOT A BIG DEAL you Silly Woman!” said Mammy’s inside voice.

“Cop yourself on Woman” laughed Mrs Anxiety.

“But what if she falls?” answered Super-bubblewrap Mum.
My gut was telling me to ring work to announce that I had an emergency and that I’d be half an hour late so I could drive her ther myself.

Of course I COULDN’T let someone else drive a bus with my Precious (if sometimes terrifying) Minion on it… 

THAT would be NUTS would it not?
You’ll be glad to know that Common Sense slapped me across the face, because obviously, Mammy being MENTAL and CARRYING HER to the door of the school would be MUCH more embarrassing and have life long repercussions compared to her slipping on the ice and bumping onto the ground.
So I reminded her that said ground was REALLY SLIPPY and that the school yard would be EXTRA slippy and that she’d have to take small steps and walk slowly.  I made sure the gloves were still on so that at least if she DID fall,  it wouldn’t be too sore on her wee hands.  And then I walked beside her to the door and quite literally let her find her feet.
And she did.

She slipped a few times, and then like a little Bambi, found her balance before looking up at me and announcing “I’m just like Elsa Mammy.”


I nearly pushed her across a puddle just to see if she’d land like Elsa too, but I though better of it.
Here I was stressing the feck out about HER and she’s off being a Disney fucking princess in her own head.

STORY OF MY LIFE! 💗😂💗😂💗

(She sooooo gets that fromThe Him obviously.)
Hope you all had a Marvellous Monday xxxxx

I am She’s One Mum

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​It’s here.  
Princess will turn one tomorrow.  

One.

12 whole months…

365 days…

1 funfilled amazing year has passed since her chubby little self bounced into our world.  Well, I say “bounced”… she didn’t bounce, but I did as the amazing surgeons tugged and pulled and lifted her out my sunroof! 😂 
But arrive she did. And as with the arrival of any little one, our lives have been changed utterly.
I’m a bit gobsmacked at how quickly the year has gone. 

I’m sitting looking at her wee party shoes 👇👇👇and I’m really not sure how I feel if I’m honest.


 It’s like I’ve blinked and she’s suddenly transformed from a chubby cheeked helpless new baby into a standing-alone, scoffy-laughing, Rambo-Hulk whose smile lights up the room and who has “Mischief” written all over her.
When Mini-Me turned one, we felt a huge sense of achievement.  We’d made it to ONE! We were fecking awesome! We were no longer NEW parents… We rocked!
With Princess, it’s more like a sense of Survival. 😂😂Because, we’ve done it! We’ve survived a year of being parents to TWO rascals! And although it’s wonderfully fun, it isn’t always easy.
Even now, as I’m preparing for her wee party tomorrow, I’m very aware of how much I’ve overcome as a new Mammy of 2 in the past year: from figuring out how to manoeuvre carseats up stairs while holding a toddler’s hand, to negotiations with said toddler when Baby required attention than she did, from figuring out two bedtimes in one routine, to managing to give both of them all my love and time… 
And it hasn’t been easy.

In the words of one of my colleagues, I try very hard to keep it all “between the ditches”.  Sometimes, I feel like I’m steering 14 cars at the one time. 😣
And yet, despite sharing MANY of my #mammyfails and #feckitupFridays on here, people still think I have my shit together.
I don’t.

Not one bit! 
I’m not Supermum.

I’m far from it.
I’m so far FROM it sometimes that I wonder how the hell I’m even going to make it to bedtime without banging my head off the wall.
I’m so far from it that even today, after the lovely job of buying Princess a pretty dress for tomorrow, I stood outside the shop on the phone to my husband telling him that I was “shitty mum”. 

 Why? 

Because both Me AND Mini-Me went off to school this morning upset and in tears. 

Because we’re both bad-tempered volatile little women, and Mammy needs to cop herself on and chose her battles.

Because I’m a human. I’m flawed and I’m sometimes fecking useless.
So there.
Yes, tomorrow we’ll have a lovely party to celebrate the first birthday of my precious little Fudgeybum. And we’ll enjoy every second of it.
The photos will hopefully capture the joyful celebration, but while some bloggers like to, or need to, pretend that their lives are perfect ALL the fecking time, I’m more than happy to admit that behind the smiles and photographs, some days are hard and some days are downright shite.
And EVERY Mammy needs to be able to say that out loud WITHOUT feeling weak for saying it…
To admit that it’s not all ok all the time.
To have another Mammy tell us “I do that too.” or “You should have been in MY house this morning!” (Words of another colleague who met my snivelling self in the carpark this morning. They’re a wonderful bunch my workmates.💙💗💙)
To admit that sometimes, the only shit we have together is the one floating in the unflushed toilet in your dirty bathroom… and that’s OK, because it WILL get flushed…eventually…briefly! 😅
But when the days are wonderful and when life is good enough to give us celebrations and blessings, put on your glittery shoes and enjoy them.
And take pictures and videos.

And try to be IN some of them too! 😎😉
Now, I need to scrape the blu-tack out of the dress Mini-Me wants to wear tomorrow and mop the floors so none of the other children catch Mad Cow disease off them.  And then, I’m going to have a bath, because I haven’t heated up today.  I’ve been freezing since 8am!

(Might have something to do with the fact that I got everyone else out the door warm and dressed this morning, but forgot my own coat!)
MammaBears eh? Who’d have us? 

Happy Friday Ladybelles.

😙😙😙😙

I am Spa Mum

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​Saturday.

So far, So FML.
Today, I cleaned.  After a week of Midterm Break where I, as fecking usual, ended up dosed to the eyeballs with babies also dosed to the eyeballs, the pit that is S-Mumble Hill needed some serious detoxification. 


Princess goes for her morning nap.  Mini-Me gets plonked in front of the Tellybox…(RTE Junior… I’m not able for Christmas adverts this morning!). S-Mum COULD pour a coffee and try to catch up on that Doll on the Train, but noooooooo.  S-Mum starts to clean. 

And as she cleans, she realises just how fucking DISGUSTING the house actually is.  There’s nothing like cleaning one surface to show you just how MINGING the other surfaces are.  So as I clean and scrub and wipe, I’m making mental notes of all of the jobs that need done…you know, at midterm.
THEN, I open the cleaning cupboard under the sink, you remember the one that The Him locked with Alcatraz style childlocks a few weeks ago? Yeah, the one with all of my lovely BLEACH and carpet cleaners and such dangerously Fablis magic potions that must be kept away from Minions, and apparently Mammy because she can’t work the fecking lock thing… and what do I see sitting pretty IN MY CLEANING PRODUCT CUPBOARD???
MICE DROPPINGS.
Yes.  

Fucking mice droppings.
Because the little shit that we THOUGHT we’d gotten rid of last weekend, apparently hasn’t disappeared, and suddenly Mini-Me’s dramatic mumblings about seeing “da wee meece wunning under the cooker” at 7am doesnt seem quite so ridiculous.
So yes.

S-Mum has reached new level of BAT SHIT CRAZY today.  I have BLEACHED EVERY SURFACE and disinfected everything in the house. I FINALLY washed the MAC Foundation out of the cream carpet… (yes I KNOW that happenend ten days ago. THAT is how UNTOGETHER this MammaBear’s shot is this past few weeks.)

And now?
Now, I’m ranting at you lot as I wait for the floors to dry and watching the clock as I drink a coffee, because in approximately 15 minutes, when Daddy Dude walks in that door, I am OUT it as fast as my bleach sparked pumps will carry me.
And guess where I’m going?
I’m taking myself off to a SPA.
YES.  A SPA.

A place of tranquility and smelly stuff and quiet.
Where there are NO minions and where thereare no mouses.
Where a lovely lady will squeeze my shitty spotty dried-out skin and batter the shoulders off me and then let me soak IN PEACE in a big bath of seaweed or some other such stuff.
I don’t particularly give a continental shite WHAT she does to me.

As long as I dont have to clean said bath, I’m pretty much good for ANYTHING today.
I’m just going.
On MY OWN…YES.  I have FINALLY rwached that stage of Mammyhood wherw I am a happy big saddo who is quite happy to NOT have company for a few hours.


And as I hand The Him his children, and grunt at him that “Yes, she needs fed, no there’s nothing in the fridge and yesm it is indeed true that I shall not be returning u til Him and The Bloke have managed to rid the house of the fucking mouse/s, I shall kiss him goodbye and add “Oh and she hasn’t poonamied today! Enjoy.”
Over and out Bitcheepooos.

This Mamma is done today.
I shall return a new woman, with marginally less rage and a little less swearing.

Maybe.

😈

I am Sick days are no more Mum

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​This 👇👇👇sums up me this week.


My minions are dosed.  I’m dosed. Everyone is dosed.
Today, I have had quite a few fantasies… 😈

I’ve been reliving old memories of long days in bed, snug and sweaty… 

I’ve been reminiscing about…

Sick days. 😂
Remember those? 
Where if you were too poorly to go to work, you simply didn’t. You dragged your  sorry ass as far as the doc and chemist, stocked up on whatever you needed to haul same sorry ass through the next few days, plonked said ass on your sofa or in bed…and SLEPT.
You SLEPT, interrupted only by zombified wakening to carry out basic bodily functions…like eat if you could, or take a pee, or take more drugs.
You could remain horizontal for AS LONG AS YOU WANTED to, watching whatever crap was on the tellybox.  It was perfectly permissable to watch thon Jeremy Kyle dude.  It made you feel better, because despite your feelings of utter shittiness and the fact that you probably haven’t showered in 3 days, you STILL looked better than some of the specimens on there.😈😂
And when the JerKylers were finished shouting at each other in a language you couldn’t quite follow fully, you turned off the tellybox and closed your eyes…and SLEPT.

You slept until you felt better, then you pulled yourself together, had a shower and went wearily back to reality.
Sick days.

I miss them. 😳
Because I realised today that since I became a Mammy, I haven’t had one. 

Sure, I’ve been sick or unwell or felt shitty, but despite that, and even on days where Doc declared me off work, there’s one job we don’t get sick days from.
Being The Mammy.
Where you can nurse yourself through a nasty cold with a few boxes of Day & Night; where you can stifle your own need to puke while you clean up someone elses; where you can survive on coffee and painkillers, because there are LITTLE PEOPLE who don’t give a shit if you feel like sleeping or puking or crying.
You still make sure they are fed, they are washed, they are kept alive😂… and the washing still gets done and the dinner still gets made (or ordered!) and you get to fit all of your wallowing into the time it tales for one episode of Corrie before you get up again to start whatever needs done before bed.
So yes, today, I fantasised.  Now, instead of watching chicflicks and drinking flat 7up or lemsip, you drink coffee and berocca boost and put Paw Patrol (or even Peppa Porkdepending on the severity of your illness) on a loop and pray it’ll entertain them long enough for you to sit in one place for 30 minutes.
  You trick your body into thinking it’s on a sick day, when REALLY what you’re on is a ‘same-as-every-other-day-except-you -feel-and-look-SHITTIER-than-every-other-day’ day.
Yet another line they omit from the Parenting manuals… “You will NEVER have a sick day again…the sick days you now see as terrible and depressing, are soon going to look like a weekend in a spa. You will NEVER sleep yourself better again.  Unless you’re in hospital, where let’s be honest, the nurses have to waken you so many times with beeping machines and charts that you might as WELL be at home with the toddler.”
So yeah.  Poor fecking me. 😂
In fairness, I’m not that bad, it’s just a headcold, but still, as I sat under my Minis today, I remembered the days where I lay on the same sofa doing nothing but getting myself better.  And then I wished I could take all of their snuffles and coughs and fevers off them and make them all better and then I pulled up my big girl knickers and looked after them.  
Because I am Mamma Bear. And that’s what Mamma Bears do. 💖💖💖

I am Soppy Mum

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​My Princess is a legend.
I’m proud of her every day. Every time I look at her fudgey little cheeks and those HUMONGOUS eyes, my heart melts.  She’s a wee dote and while I love both of my girls equally, she’s the only BABY I have left… Her sister is ready for college… 😂 
I’ve always been delightfully smug when I could say things like “Ah she’ll go to anyone”  and “She NEVER makes strange!” In fairness to the wee toot, my whole “Bump & Beyond” event was inspired by her and we’re a very busy family, so it’s fair to say that she’s been used to being handed to other people “for a minute” since she was born!  She’s a truly easy baby, if there is such a thing? 

She’s easy going and happy as long as someone is smiling at her…it doesn’t matter if she knows you…just SMILE DAMMIT! ☺
But in the past few days, she has suddenly realised that Mummy has a habit of buggering off and she has decided that it’s time to protest.
Since I returned to work, I’ve been missing her terribly.  I miss both of them obviously, but Mini-Me is off on her own wee adventure and is sooooo happy at school that it’s hard for me to be anything OTHER than happy for her. 

 Princess on the other hand, is still my baby.  She still at that precious stage of “firsts”.  I’ve been with her for all of them so far, but now that I’m off out at work again, I’m starting to get sad about what I’m missing.  
In the past week, she’s decided to up her GUILT GAME: Startled looks as I hand her to Granny. Crawling after me shouting “Mama Mama!”. Whining as I go out the door in the morning. 😭
It’s breaking my stupid heart, because it’s so sudden.  It’s as if she’s finally understood that I’m leaving.  I’m simply going to work, but o her, I’m ABANDONING her!! Ok, well I exaggerate obviously, bit still.  It’s taking the shine off my enthusiasm for going back to my lovely workplace a little.
But the sad eyes when I’m leaving are happily countered by the new excitement she shows when I come home.  She bounces out of the arms of whoever is holding her.  She smiles that adorable smile and she squeals with excitement and pulls my hair while she slabbers all over me! The Mummy Bun is up within 2 minutes of entering the room and no matter what I’ve been doing or where I’ve been, that mummy bun means I’m back where I should be.
And that’s what keeps me going.
Because as much as we’re both having to get used to our new routine…we will.  And while she WILL sometimes get upset as I leave, as long as I know she’ll react with such pure and perfect love every time I come home, it’ll get me to hometime each day.
Was I the same with Mini-Me? Of course, but I suppose this time feels a little different as I’m “aware”.

  Aware of how quickly they grow up…

Aware of how suddenly Mini-Me stands in front of me as an independent,  ass-kicking almost 5 year old…

Aware that before I know it, Princess will also be off to school and running out of my arms without even thinking about missing me…

Aware that each of her “lasts” is most likely MY lasts as a Mummy too.


 
So there you go.

Soppy Mum for a change.

No funnies tonight.
I’m on my best behaviour after Mini-Me’s last words to me before bedtime… “I’m telling my teacher on you.”
Is it Gin o’ clock yet?

😂😂😂😂