​A Love Letter to my Beautiful Daughters.
To my daughters.

You know how much I love you both. But on this particular morning, I go above and beyond to express my adoration for you.  You are the absolute loves of my life and I would do ANYTHING for you both.  This morning, I prove this.
I have many things to teach you in life my Darlings.  Love, respect, manners, Dance routines, Beyonce lyrics… I will endeavour to give you the skills you need to spot a Gobshite from 100 yards, to identify Liars before they get into your head, to determine who is real and who is a Master of Bullsheeeet… skills I am still learning myself.  You, my precious Darlings, shall be armed and ready for all of these, and yet you shall STILL encounter them and you shall probably make some of the same mistakes that I did… do.
I shall teach you lots of things. But this morning, as the wind and rain batters the house and my to-do list is laughing at me from the table, where it lies forever unfinished, there is only ONE thing that I TRULY want you to understand.
SATURDAYS.

I WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT IT’S A FRICKEN SATURDAY!
I NEED you to understand that a Saturday morning is DIFFERENT.
Monday through Friday, I HAVE TO WAKEN YOU at 7.30am to get us out the door. 

But this morning? 

This morning, you BOTH bounce to full blown Minioness at STUPID O’CLOCK.
You have obviously conspired against your poor Mamma Bear. 

Is this my punishment for having 2 hours of Me-only time with Scrumptious Pacha last night?

Did you have a midnight meeting to establish your coincidentally coordinated wakeup time of 6.03am?

Do you not love me?

Do ypu not care?
Of course you don’t!

You’re both snuggled on the floor, in your fluffy dressing gowns, engrossed in that snottery little bitch Peppa Pig, while I am on Coffee number 3.

You don’t give a continental crap that it’s  a Saturday.
And why should you? 

I do love you, no less this morning, although I complain that it feels like lunchtime already.

I just hope you appreciate my sacrifices.

Sleep, bed, slumber, adult only snuggles… who needs them eh? 

You’re cute and funny and slabbery and adorable and I love you both more than I love myself, even at stupid o’ clock on a SATURDAY.
Now, my Darlings, tomorrow is Sunday…SUNDAY! 

And it’s Daddy’
s turn to get up with you, so feel free to awake from your slumber whenever you so please!
Love always my little fluffybums,

Mammy xxxxxxx

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

​Sssssssssh!

Strictly has started!
It’s officially winter.

It’s cold, dark and stormy.

The fire has been lit for the first time.

Strictly is on the tellybox.

Mammy is snug in my room, making smoochie with my favourite.  It’s a REALLY good grapejuice actually, bought on sale in The Counter last week.  Herself-of-the-wine told me to make sure to let it breath…

I gave it 3 minutes and then started mouth to mouth.

The Him is watching Braveheart or some such shite in the other room.

The Him is not allowed to interrupt Strictly.

The Him values Him’s life and would like to live another day to see Him’s Jim.
The Him MAY alos be SLIGHTLY in S-Mum’s bad booklets.

Why?

Why? you ask…
I’ll tell you why shall I?
The HIM did NOT put the BIG GIANT BIN up to the road this morning.
S-Mum even HINTED AT HIM as he crept out of bed at 5am “Did you remember to get bin labels?”… (Sleepy, sweet, cute wife voice to remind Him of my tininess and not-of-the-putting-out-of-the-big-binability.)

It OBVIOUSLY didn’t work.
I lay in bed thinking “He’ll put the bin out. I’m so clever reminding him I am.”

He went out the door thinking “I remembered to buy bin labels and she only reminded me once. I am fricken awesome I am.”
Perspective lads.😑
So at 5.45am when I noticed the HUGE FECKING WHEELIE BIN STILL at the back door, imagine my surprise!

The sunrise was pink and beautiful.

My exhaltations were colourful to say the least.
That BIN weighs AT LEAST 15 stone.

I DO NOT weigh 15 stone.😂
I dragged nearly 2 times my bodyweight UP A BLOODY HILL. (OK, Maybe not quite 2 times my bodyweight, but for dramatic purposes I exaggerate. Shup…)🤐
Big bin.

Me in my PJs.

Big hill.

LOTS of expletives.

Savage dose of self-righteousness.
Worse than a workout?

Better than a workout?

Who knows, but one was NOT impressed. 🤐
And yes, of course I’m all about equal rights and gender equality.

Just not when the bin needs to go out.

😙😙

​I love my girls.
I really do.
I love them soooooooooo much.
But JEEEEEEEEESUS do I love their bedtime! 😂😂

Our visitors have left.

The house is upside down.

We’re all knackered after the last week of mayhem.

  I’m honestly still catching up with myself from the Blog Awards last Thursday night! 
We all miss the visitors alweady:

Mini-Me is NOT impressed that Uncle Brian has gone back to London and not taken her with him. (I must admit, for about 20 minutes this morning, I almost wished he had too!😂)
Princess is looking around for her fan club after spending 3 days with continous attention from them all.
The dog is suitably depressed in the back hall because they’ve gone, and I am seriously concerned that I obviously don’t give my family enough attention, when the departure of visitors causes such feckin DEVASTATION among my babbies…furbaby and all! 😂😂
But now that they’re both snoring, I’m watching Corrie and having a savage case of writer’s block. The groceries are still sitting on the counter and I REALLY need to get up off my arse and put on some dinner.
And no more visitors means that The Him will now be delighted to have my full attention back when he gets home.

  NOT…😐😐😐
He’ll probably miss them just as much as the attention hungry minions and dog because he’ll have to ACTUALLY listen to my ramblings tonight and will no longer have the peace he’s had to stare at him’s screens over the past few nights! 😂
I hope you all had a Marvellous Monday.

Enjoy their bedtime! 😂

​Saturdays.
Sweet, wonderful, fun-filled Saturdays.
Remember when Saturdays consisted of no alarm clock, coffee dates, shopping for shoes (not in Clarks) and spending HOURS getting ready to go out and being grnerally feckin FABLIS? 
Remember that?
Now, Saturdays are USUALLY spent fitting EVERYTHING into one day… housework, washing, movies, shopping (for fricken food), baths… and every Mamma’s FAVOURITE…
…THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.

Don’t you LOVE birthday parties?

I do actually.
I love the excuse to nibble on plates of sweeties and crisps and “pabalova” and Haribos.

I love cake.

I love having a chance to chat to other parents.

I love that the party is NOT IN MY HOUSE!

I love to see other kids acting up on their poor grown-up people. (Not because I’m a bitch…no…It just makes me feel a little bit more normal. 😉)

I love that Mini-Me is so COMPLETELY SHATTERED by bedtime that she sleeps like a diesel dry truck. 
But like ALL S-Mums, there is ONE thing about Birthday parties that I do not like.
Two words.

SUGAR CRASH. 😢😢😢
How to recognise Sugar Crash (SC) in your Minion:
1. Firstly, don’t be fooled into thinking that SC will only happen AFTER you leave the Birthday party.  It may present its ugly little head at ANY time during the event.  If you recognise the symptoms in your child, act immediately.

GET OUT! GET OUT AS FAST AS YOU POSSIBLY CAN!
2. Flushed face…indicating fever (or just general knackeredness when getting off bouncy castle/trampoline.)
3. Sugar froth at the mouth… the little shit has eaten so much funfood that their ability to hide the evidence diminishes rapidly.
4. The glare.  When you mention going home and their eyes narrow… RUN.
5.  Excessive, loud, manic laughter… “Aw leave them…they’re having fun aren’t they!?”

 NOOOOOOOOO.  Christ NO! THIS is the WARNING SIGN.

  THIS kind of crazy convulsion ALWAYS ends in tears.  OTF NOW!
6. Your sweet, beautiful angel turns into an absolute Hell Hallion, whose only mission in life suddenly becomes the need to DESTROY EVERYTHING around her…most importantly, your sanity.
7. A Defiant and definitive declaration of protest at bedtime that they are NOT tired, despite the fact that their eyes are upside down and they look like Gollum after 34 whiskies. 
8.  Screams, whining, tears, exhaustion. ( Be warned…THIS one is highly contagious. You may find yourself displaying these signs in sympathy with your little darling.)
9. Sudden refusal to do ANYTHING they are asked to do.  And don’t even DARE to need to go anywhere else or do anything else AFTER the party… (Trust me there isn’t enough wine in the world to help you get over the trauma of a trip to Dunnes with a child suffering from SC.)
There are many more, but I’m sorry… I’m done. 😥😥😥
My little Beauties are finally in bed and I need to stop typing and starting supping the Happy Mummy juice.
When I’m rich and famous, I promise that the Mammies at our parties will each receive a party bag at the end too…

Inside, shall be a Double Decker and a cute little bottle of WINE. 🍷🍷
And at today’s party (which for the record, as usual, was AMAZING), one Mammy was leaving to head to party number 3 with 4 kids…
To THAT SuperMum, I say Cheers and well done and May the odds be ever in your favour..
Is it Shiraz or sauvignon Saturday in your house?

Goodnight Lovely Ladybelles 😘😘😘