Tag Archives: bathtime

‘Just RELAAAAX’ They Say…

Posted in parenting by

‘Make some time for YOU Mammy and have a relaxing bath’ say the instafluencers.

Well OK then!

An instaworthy bathing relaxation event is about to go down in Chez Mammy… buckle up Bitcheepoos.

I sniff in the steam as my very ‘spensive and much loved bubble bath, (made up of ingredients I cannot pronounce for lack of vowels… LangyLang and mystical howabajobawobahoohoo berries and Blossoms and such) fills my bathroom with sweet scented steam.

I need this.
I deserve this.
I shall read.
I shall RELAX and have some time ON MY OWN.

I have the suds.
I have the soaps.
I have the candles lit.
I have my book ready.
I have my musical soundtracks ready to play.
Most importantly, I have the wine poured.

I EVEN have a few nice big dirty fat creamy chocolates sitting on my the fancy board that sits across my bath, (which I decided that I NEEDED on night 309 of lockdown after a bath where I almost smashed my favourite wine glass into my thighs as it refused to balance on the side of the bath.)

I am going to sip on my Shiraz and listen to Idina Defy Gravity, while I hum along, calm and content and soaking my cares away.

I switch off the ‘big light’ and slide into the suds.

It’s too hot. Of course it is.

It will ALWAYS be too hot, for I am a muppet. I’ll never learn.
That’s a fact.

Deciding that the chances of ACTUAL burns are not quite as high as usual, I wait for my skin to stop screaming and close my eyes.

This shall be heaven.
I insist it shall.

I reach for my book…

I cannot see my book.

For you see, the romantic and subtle candlelight is SO subtle that I actually can’t SEE any of the words on the fucking page.

I call Himself.

“Will you turn on the big light please? I can’t see!”
He grumbles something rather dangerous and foolish about how he “told me so” and the light dazzles me.

Ok, so it’s not quite as relaxing, but at least I can see the words now. I balance the book in my soggy hands.

Within a few moments, the steam is causing my fingers to leave big damp splodges all over the pages.

It seems that the book is gaining weight. I’m sure it wasn’t this heavy 5 minutes ago.

It seems to have morphed into the entire collection of the Britannica Encyclopedia and I’m wondering HOW it now weighs 25Kg as my arms struggle to hold the fecking soggy pages above my head. This is so uncomfortable.

I put the book down, hit play on the phone and listen to the Wicked soundtrack.

As I pop a chocolate into my mouth, the WIFI cuts out (I’m more than a metre from the fucking kitchen. What did I expect?) so the music stops and starts so many times within a minute that I think I have whiplash.

I switch off Idina and throw another chocolate into my mouth…

Or AT my mouth, for, you see, I miss.

And the dirty big champagne truffle sinks like yer man Jack in Titanic and I think I cry louder and more genuinely than thon Rose bitch.

Such is the severity of my sense of loss. I fish the little fecker out, but not before it has started to melt, because yes, the water is still too hot.

I plop the sodden truffle onto the fancy board. It looks like a poo.

Then I call the Husband again to come down to open the window, because obviously I am still melting and my heart is working too hard in the boiling water and I fear that I may die.

“What now?”
“Can you open the window please?”
There are grumblings and mutterings as he opens the window. He eyes the tiny poo on the board and the suspicious trail of pooey clouds in the water and raises an eyebrow at me, before leaving me to my ‘pampering’…

I hear the words “Every fucking time…” as he stomps out to continue wrestling the two hellfiends into their beds.

‘This is SOOO relaxing’ I think as I listen to them announce to Daddy that actually, it is NOT bedtime and they are in fact NOT going to bed until Mammy reads a story…

The wine is lovely…just the right temperature. I allow the berry-red joyjuice to do that weird tingle it does to my muscles. It’s rather lovely.

I set it the glass back and close my eyes because the big light is by now fucking blinding me, and I try that ‘relaxing’ thing people talk about.
After approximately 2 minutes, I’m bored.

The door opens and I hear her before I see her.

She is settling her tiny self on the toilet and as she does so, she announces “you might want to cover your nose Mammy.”

Noooooooooo!

Well. You can imagine how the rest of this story goes…

Yeah.
Have a bath they said.
It’s so relaxing…

Lying bitches.

I am Spin & Rinse Them Mum

Posted in parenting, Uncategorized by

How often do you do your washing then?

And by washing, I mean your kids?

Are you one of those Mammies I envy who can manage to wash their Minions every night? With a peaceful and practiced routine which includes fluffy towels, Pink skin amd Smiling cherubs?

Or are you like me?

The shameful excuse for a Mammy who gives them a deep clean once a week and sometimes throws them in for a rinse and spin midweek if there’s a chance that social services might be called as a result of the spud-growing levels of soil which could be ploughed under their Nails…

For whom the thought of wrestling the two skinnyarses out of the bath, (getting them INTO it is never a challenge!), Screams at the hairdrying regardless of how much conditioner is used and the general BOMBSITE into which the house descends, are enough to make Mammy consider grapes at 5pm…

The Mammy of the kids who are the OPPOSITE of the angels who get tired by a bath at bedtime? The kids who absorb the energy of the feckin water through their pores and end up BOUNCING for 45 minutes after being exorcised… sorry extracted, from the bubbles. (Yes even the lullaby-ing lavender-y Spensive bubbles).

Regardless of which of these you are, as long as they’re happy, does it REALLY matter how dirty they are?

And really, a dirty child is a healthy child yeah?
And the smell of a clean minion is short-lived anyway isn’t it?

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And really, how often we do our washing is the same amount of other people’s business as how many times a day we fart, is it not? 

 

Have you found me on Bookface and Instagranny yet?

 

I am Suds-and-Sauvignon Mum

Posted in children, family, parenting, wine by

Recently I had a bubble bath.

It wasn’t just an ordinary bubble bath.

It was my first bubble bath since having Princess a few months ago.
It was my first bubble bath with bubbles made by a ridiculously luxurious and smelly bath lotion.
It was my first bubble bath in almost a year where I could sip on a glass of Sauvigon while I soaked.

It was my first bubble bath in quite a while, where I actually fit into the tub and didn’t require the help of Hubby and a forklift to get out!

It was heavenly.

I lit some scented candles, turned off the main light and closed the door knowing that Mini-Me and Princess were safe with Daddy.
I had at least a half hour to switch off.

It was utter bliss.

To get a few minutes, however long or short, where you know the kids are safe in someone else’s care and you can completely relax, is a luxury that I never appreciated until I had children.

I reached out for the fancy, long-stemmed wine glass and sighed.  The golden liquid swishing around the huge glass looked extra pretty and lush in the candlelight.  I found myself stopping to look at the scene in front of me.

Had I had a camera, this would have been a cool photograph.
Candlelight, suds, the gold sauvignon, my recently painted nails.  It was all quite fabulous; classy; romantic even!  The photograph would have been the perfect accompaniment to an article on a Yummy Mummy, or indeed a perfect pamper evening.

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I sipped on the cold wine and enjoyed the flavours.  It had been quite a while since I had had wine in the bath!  Deep breath and relax.  And then smile as I felt a little bit of the “Me B.C” creeping back.
Yes.  This was Heaven.
And then I turned my head slightly to the left…
On the edge of my “photograph of perfection” was a reminder of real life.

Along the side of the bath, was the full collection of Disney princesses…the bath toy versions…which are pretty, but a little creepy when you consider the size of their heads in relation to their bodies!
(And the Rapunzel doll looks like she’s high on something illegal!)
Interspersed with these Princesses, were multicoloured rubber ducks, glaring at me through their pirate eye-patches.

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I looked to the right.
The over flowing laundry basket looked like it was puking clothes.

And so my picture perfect Yummy Mummy moment suddenly became a snapshot of reality.
And I simply laughed.
I focused again on the centre view.  If I just kept looking straight ahead, I could pretend for a few minutes that I had nothing to worry about but the suds and that my servants would sort out the laundry!

And so that is what I did.  I finished sipping the Sauvignon, stared at the candle flame dancing through the suds, and relaxed.

When I was suitably wrinkly and relaxed, (and the water was starting to get too cold to enjoy), I turned my attention back to Cinderella and her band of ducking pirates.

Yes, I was cross at them for ruining my picture perfect moment, but still.
They represent my reality.
I can pretend to be as classy and sophisticated as I like, but the reality is that I am an overgrown child who quite likes the colourful mess of bath toys in the bathroom.
And I don’t have servants so the puking laundry basket would be dealt with, by me…but not until the next morning.

I got out of the bath, (without help!!!  HUGE accomplishment!), wrapped myself up in a fluffy towel and left the candlelit bathroom, completely relaxed and smelling lovely, and looking forward to cuddles with my own little Disney Princesses in the bright light of the next morning.

But for just a little while,
I was Suds-And-Sauvignon Mum.

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