​People often ask why I get up at 5.30am. 

The question is usually hidden in words such as “You’re up since WHAT time?” Or “WTF?” or “Are you out of your MIND?” and accompanied by a LOOK of horror and incredulity.
From now on, I shall simply direct those who do not understand, to look at this image. 👇👇👇👇

I ONLY get to the bottom line if I get up when it’s STILL DARK, so NOW do you see?
I am doing humanity and the general population of Letterkenny a HUGE favour by rising this early.

I can be quite the grumpy bitch see, and coffee helps me to be nice. ☕

It’s magic.
As is having a few hours of Me-time. 

Never underestimate the blissful calm of your messy kitchen at stupid o’clock.  
An hour of early morning quiet, a full, uninterrupted shower, an empty coffee cup, seeing the sky suddenly not be black anymore… take the little things where you get them my Darlings.
They really are precious.

So, drink that coffee.☕
Oh.  And your challenge for the day? 

Be nice. 

You never know who you’re helping with a smile. 😆😆

Happy Monday my Pretties.

💗💗💗

Drying your hair.
Tonight, it is different, Drying your hair.

My heart, it is breaking, while you just sit there.

This is so normal, you really don’t see

What’s different about sitting up on my knee.
I comb it. And where you would usually cry, 

You don’t, you’re distracted and I wonder why

This troubles me suddenly, makes my heart hurt?

“That’s my big girl” I say, and that’s when I start.
I turn on the hairdryer, and then they begin

And for each strand that dries, another tear wins.

I’m sobbing, and sobbing, I let them pour down,

You stare at the telly, snug in your nightgown.
Completely oblivious to the mess right behind you,

Who struggles to breath as your hair falls around you.

It’s shiny and finished, but I keep on drying

Glad that you haven’t yet noticed me crying.
The comb puts in order the long strands of gloss,

Mummy puts in order her feeling of loss,

For while I am proud of you every day,

I know that a baby, you simply can’t stay.
I turn off the dryer and dry up my tears.

I cuddle you tightly and whisper in your ear.

“Your hair is so pretty and I love you so”,

You smile and hug tighter and answer “I know”.
So, drying your hair it was different this time

And yes, I’m being silly, I know you’ll be fine.

And while you’ll soon want to dry your own hair maybe,

You’ll always be this Mummy’s Beautiful Baby. 

My brain is MUSH.
Sticky, messy, useless MUSH.💩
It took me an hour to figure out how to put the links for the voting into a post.  

Thanks to a lovely S-Mum who sent me a message with simple Silly-Mummy step-by-step instructions on how to personalise the links. I hope I’ve (she’s) made it a bit easier to cast your votes.
 It seems that although I THINK I’m computer literate, being able to navigate Bookface and Instagranny (really badly I may add…) doesn’t quite cut it.  

And the Tweeter freaks the Twit out of me.  I use it at a distance.  I literally stay as far away from the screen as possible because I’m afraid someone is going to DESTROY me for mistagging or accidentally retweeting their tweetering?
Mini-Me can work the tellybox better than I can and Princess will no doubt be able to teach me all I need to know about such stuff in approximately 3 years.

Which might be handy because apparently Bloggers are in tune with all of this stuff.  They talk about linkies and hashtags and all sorts of terrifying things and I’m standing here watching in awe, like the kid in the playground who doesn’t have a mobile.🙃🙃
I’m still proud of myself for being able to use the fricken washing machine without having to call my Mum. 

 I get SUCH a sense of ACHIEVEMENT when I know I need to change the settings from a 40° to a 60° wash. I figured that one out all by myself.

  I am a proper, bonafide and very mature, grown-up Domestic Goddess, thank you.
Just bow before me and call me Supermum…(but don’t you Dare ask me what ANY of the other settings are!) 😂
So while the REAL blogger types on the Shortlist that I fell onto by mistake, get their Tweetsickle and Snappychat on, I’ll stay here, safe and cozy in my Bookface corner, where all I really have to do is type my random S-mumblings and hit publish. 
 And if I get stuck, I’ll ask Mini-Me to help me, or I’ll follow Princess’s example and hide behind the curtains.

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to vote and to share, and Cheers to all of the lovely comments.

You really are a FABLIS bunch of S-Mummies. 💖💖💖💖
#SMum 😘😘😘

Here are quick linkies to my vote pages.
http://bit.ly/VoteSecretsofSMum

http://bit.ly/Voteshakeabootay

Xxx

​S-Mum has a plan.
It is quite genius if I’m honest.
If I refuse to start THINKING about school, I won’t have to face the fact that it’s ACTUALLY happening.
It’s creeping up on me like a fricken creepy stalker type in a bad horror movie.👹👹
And in our house, it’s a double whammy, because not only do I have to start back at school after 11 wonderful months as a SAHM, my precious (if slightly terrifying!) Mini-Me is starting BIG School too.
To be honest, my biggest fear is my brain.

I dont think it’s going to able to cope with the added THINKING required to 

a) be in anyway intelligent and competent in school

b) be organised to start a new routine 

c) keep all the plates I am spinning already from smashing when another HUGE plate is added to the mix.
So, my plan is to just IGNORE IT.
Isn’t S-Mum clever?
I have yet to buy ANYTHING except a schoolbag for Herself.
No shoes, No PE kit, No back to school teacher wardrobe for me…NOTHING.

I haven’t even raided Asda’s stationery aisle yet.

THAT is a miracle… 😂😂
And until I go into Penneys and fill 2 baskets with grey trousers, navy polo necks, blah blouses and nude fricken rotten tights, it won’t be real.
And until I take Her to buy school shoes, she’s not REALLY starting Big school is she?
I shall enjoy another week of normality.

I shall enjoy my girlies, snotters and all.

I shall enjoy having a glass of grape juice🍷 on a Monday if I so wish.

I shall enjoy my Forrest Gumpedness for just a little longer.
See.

Procrastination does work.

I AM indeed a genius.

Or a Chicken…

Time for that grape-juice…while I still can! 

😘😘😘 

​It’s oh so quiet….sssssh….sssssssh!

It’s oh so stiiiiiiiill…
Tonight.  I don’t even have the tellybox on.

The minions are in bed and the only sounds are the dinner cooking and my good friend Gin shouting at me from the bottle.

“Let me out you bitch!”

“I haven’t seen my BFF Tonic in 2 weeks!” 

” You know you want me!”

“You DESERVE ME!” 
Seriously.  The little fecker is really fricken loud.

Like my children.

Loud.

Adorable, but JEEEEESUS they’re loud.
The Big one will never need a microphone if she ever follows Mamma Bear’s twinkletoes on-stage.  And the Little one is quiet usually, but MY GOD when she roars, she ROARS! 😂

I blame The Him.👤

As usual. 😂
Today, Mini Me came out of the bathroom buck feckin naked, declaring that her clothes had fallen off.  

She then threw a strop which included throwing a ball up the hall and screaming “You’re stoopid!” before arriving BACK up same hall dressed as a cowgirl, holding a rocket (which was actually a gun apparently) and proceeded to shoot us. Violent little lady.  

(Again, I blame The Him.👤  He let her watch The Avengers on Saturday. TWAT.)
 Then, she hugged me until she almost choked me and cried because she doesn’t want me or the Him to go to Heaven and her favourite pink soap is finished so it’s DEAD!
 A perfectly normal and logical chain of events really. 

No?

Or maybe it’s  time to call thon psychologist cousin of mine?
How did we react?

 We didn’t really. We’re getting quite good at the “stay calm and don’t confront unnecessarily” motto.  It does work sometimes.
My response was to lace up my trainers, leave The Him to it and walk 6k in 50 minutes. 

I came home refreshed and positive and opened the door to this 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇 little guilt monster waiting for me like a PUPPY at the living room door.

“Please Mummy, Don’t ever leave me again….”

Those eyes though? 💖💖💖
So now, the Hulk SMAAAAAASH is asleep, the Toothless Wonder is drooling all over her cot again and because I can’t join my fablis friends for a night of Mexican Food, Margaritas and Highly intelligent conversation, I’m going to say hello to poor Mr Gin and “Cheers” to them, and you, from my quiet house.
Sssssssssssssh…. 🍷💖🍷💖🍷