Happy Easter S-mummers! Today, it’s all about the eating. 

This morning, Mini-me is suspiciously quiet in the kitchen. I voice this observation to Husband, who instantly looks guilty and replies with an “Ermmmmm”. 

I hot foot it to the other room, to find Madam on top of the sofa with half of an Easter Egg in each hand! She was grinning like a Cheshire Cat and was as happy as the proverbial pig. Chocolate for breakfast (Yes I know… despite my promise that that would never happen!). 

But hey! It’s Easter Sunday. She’s hyped up on sugar. We had chocolate with every meal. We ate chocolate between every meal. We made a chocolate butterfly cake for dessert. The eggs have all been anhialated and I’m on the same sofa now, resembling an upturned turtle;  A happy upturned turtle at that. 

Happy Easter! 

I am Stuffed Mum. 😉 

My 3 year old is a thief! And a damn fine thief she is too. 

Yesterday, we were having a dander around a local shopping centre. Mini-Me was being perfectly behaved in her buggy, allowing me the rare pleasure of looking around clothes shops. It was heavenly. 

We went into a card shop and as I stood at the till, she was happily singing to herself and swinging her super-long legs. Being a responsible Mammy, I moved the pram back so that she wouldn’t knock the little Yankee Candles off their shelf. 

The shop assistant cooed down at her, telling her she was a lovely girl, then continued the usual chit chat as she packed up my purchases. And so, off we trotted to Marks and Sparks. 

“Isn’t this lovely?” I think to myself, pleased and slightly smug that Mummy and daughter are finally at that lovely stage of being able to go shopping together without theatrics and tantrums. She’s obviously enjoying herself too.
She’s content and quiet, which, come to think of it, is very unusual…suspicious even. 

I stop and step around to look at my sweet, innocent angel, only to see her grinning at me over the top of a pink Yankee Candle. I’m shocked and outraged at once, but all I can do is laugh. 

“Where did you get that?” I ask, with my Mummy is serious voice. 

“It’s PINK and I neeeeeed it.” Comes the reply. 

“Sweetie, that’s not ours. You can’t lift stuff out of shops. You’ll get Mammy in trouble”. 

She looks bothered. 

Holding the evidence up to her pudgy wee nose, she sniffs dramatically before announcing, “Mmmmmm! Smells Taysteeee!” And giving me her sweetest smile. 

What does one do when they catch their toddler stealing? I felt like every passer by knew that we’d been shop lifting. I had sudden visions of the shop assistant arriving with three burly security guards, pointing her accusing finger, declaring “That’s her! There with the buggy!” I could see the headline “Mother uses toddler to steal Yankee Candle!”  

So I did what I knew I had to. I told Princess that we’d have to take it back to the lady in the shop. She protested of course, but I marched (OK pushed) the little criminal right back to the card shop. 

There was a different girl on the till this time. “What do we have to do now?” I asked Madam. She held the offending article up to the Assistant.
I quickly explained that she’d lifted it while I was paying for cards a few minutes earlier. Shop assistant barely looked up, took it back with a “Grand love.” And that was that. 

I was a bit disappointed to be honest. Where was my gratitude? Where was my praise for being such a moral and good person? Where was my award for teaching the toddler that sometimes you must face up to mistakes that you make, and sometimes you have to make things right? 

It’s in the same place as all those  other mummy awards…it’s sitting in the pram. I walked away knowing that we’d done a good thing and that Karma would be happy with us, even if no one else cared. It might have only been a tiny candle, but it wasn’t ours. 

But the person who learned the most valuable lesson was me. Keep a closer eye on my little Sticky Fingers if I don’t want to be Shoplifting Mum again! 

S-Mum Xx

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.

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 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 calm, reasonable and logical mind, I realized that this would probably 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 anaesthetic isn’t working? They obviously need 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 an anaesthetic 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, Laugh.

I am Suddenly not in charge Mum. 🙂

“Will you marry us?”

Not exactly your typical proposal is it? But it’s how many proposals should now be phrased, because let’s face it, for most of us now, marriage is not just between the traditional two people. Sometimes, there’s the ex.  Sometimes there’s a dog who thinks he owns the bed.  Sometimes, there’s a child.  Sometimes, there’s the children.  Regardless, there’s the reality.

As a child, I did the “Monica“; marching through an aisle of appreciative teddy bears, wearing a pillow case as a veil, happily telling Ken that “I do,” while my sister practiced being bridesmaid.

I’m a Disney girl, so I’ve always been pretty sure that someday my Prince Charming would appear on horse back to my castle, to whisk me off into my happily ever after. And appear he did, (after a loooooong string of kissed frogs), admittedly however, not on horse back.  He arrived in a taxi to a house party, but he did indeed sweep me off my glittery stilettos and we’re doing a mighty fine job of the happy ever after!

But when I dreamed about my wedding and my future husband, at no point did I dream of marrying two men.  But that I did.

It wasn’t in my plan.  I’m pretty sure it isn’t in anybody’s plan.  When a couple are expecting a baby, it surely doesn’t come into their thoughts that someday, another woman or another man, will be parent to that child.  Of course it doesn’t.  But then, sometimes, our plans don’t quite work out the way we dream they will.

Families are complicated.  When you marry the man, or woman, of your dreams, the “us” you dreamed of can suddenly include a whole lot of people you never imagined having to deal with:  The child.  The other parent.  The parent’s partner.  The other baby. The mother’s family.  More often than not, things get messy, but if you’re in it for the long haul, you’ll quickly realize that the fighting has to just end in order for anyone to get on with things.

Of course every circumstance is different.  I’m one of the lucky ones I suppose.  My husband came with a perfectly wonderful mini-him.  I’ve had the pleasure of being mini-him’s wicked stepmother since he was only a wee toot of a four year old.  He doesn’t know anything else except Daddy and Me. And he is his Mammy’s own Prince Charming.

He’s wonderful with our own Mini-me.  He knows he’s part of a wonderfully functional dysfunctional little unit.  He knows that there’s been the obvious  difficulties in the past, but he also knows that he has a whole lot of love directed at him, from many different angles.

I had friends at the start who thought I was crazy taking on another woman’s child.  I’m sure some of them still think it.  But, what some of them didn’t realize was that watching my manfriend be the best father in the world to his little person, was one of the reasons I loved him so immediately.  He would go to the ends of the earth for him.  He did actually, and you can’t buy that level of love and commitment. So as I stood on the altar and promised to love him, “and all the children we’d be blessed with“, forever, I was making that vow to not one, but two, men…And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m also blessed that his mother knows that I love him and has allowed me the pleasure of helping to raise her precious one.    Granted, I’m sure that I was never in her plans.  I know she was never in mines. But guess what? The universe threw our happy ever afters together whether we liked it or not.  We’re not in charge.  Even in my own self-righteousness, I’ve never underestimated how difficult it must be to allow a step-mum into your child’s life…I’m not sure I could do it. That takes guts. That takes a supermum. 🙂