The Click between the Phases…Bedtime.

“Goodnight my little darlings!” sings Mammy.

Mammy is hopeful…

Mammy is closing the hall door. The minions are tucked up and have been tucked in after their bedtime stories, kissed and snuggled and are as snug as two bugs.

Mammy has had the glass of grapes poured and ‘breathing’ since before the bedtime routine began.

Mammy slowly closes the door, to a chorus of “Night Mammy!” and “wuboooo!”

In the seconds before the click of the door of phase one, Mammy dreams.

Her mind jumps forward to an evening of feet up, of peace and joyful quiet, of adult conversation and grown up tellybox. Mammy’s muscles begin to relax and the excitement rises in her that she is about to cross the glorious finish line of another day of the race that is parenting.

Click…

Silence.

Joy.



Mammy reaches for her wine, sighs and smiles. She lifts it, smells it, for that is what one does, is it not?

Mammy does NOT whisper sweet nothings or declare love to the glass, for that would be weird, would it not?

Mammy sips the glorious grapejuice and allows the bitter beauty of the grapes to seep into her gums.

And as Mammy allows her muscles to relax, she listens to the silence…

It lasts 0.6433 fucking seconds.

“MAMMEEEEEEEE!”
“MAMMWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

FML

And so begins phase 2 of the bedtime dance.

The “needs” range from a hug, a blanket fixed, a lullaby (wtf?), a wee dwink (you and me both chick), a teddy which has been lost for approximately 5 months, an answer about why white blutac isn’t blue and doesn’t stick as well, a promise of another playdate (she knows I’d promise the Crown Jewels to get them to sleep), among many, many, many other things.

In fairness, these are mostly things that u can and happily do provide. Good Mammy…๐Ÿ’™

And so, eventually, they are in bed and are quiet. I am experienced enough to know that they are probably not asleep.
But I am also KNACKERED enough to know that as long as they’re quiet, they’ll eventually fall into the snoozy slumbers.

And so I sit, sipping the rest of the earlier started grapejuice, glad that they are a phase closer to sleep.

Maybe.
Possibly.
Who knows?

They could be back up the hall 629 times before Mammy eventually loses her shit, but then again, they might get bored and just go to sleep.

Mammy too need a hug and a lullaby and a promise of a playdate with MY friends, but tonight, I’ll settle for a wee dwink myself!

Cheers Mammies. You’re smashing it. Bring on phase 3…๐Ÿ˜˜

X

I am So I’m a Career Mum (again)

Rejoice! Rejoice!

It is Friyay…the FIRST Friyay after a FULL week of school and work and routine. And we have all survived. (albeit just about, but survived we have.๐Ÿ˜‚)
We may be frazzled and fooked Mammies, but still we must find the energy to REJOICE in the Fact that we have made it to the MOST wonderful evening of the week. ๐Ÿ˜†

This week, after two years of maternity leave, unpaid leave and jobsharing, I have finally dipped my toe back into the world of being a Full-time Mammy with a full-time Job. What have I learned? Nothing. But I have remembered MANY things; Things that I had battered down, suffocated and locked in a tattered old box at the back of the memory part of my subconscious, but which now bounce back to the forefront of my ridiculously tired little mind. ๐Ÿ˜

Tired Children:

Tired children are cranky.
Tired children like to find a reason, ANY reason, to cry.
Tired children do not KNOW that they are tired.
Tired children refuse to admit that they are tired.๐Ÿ˜ฅ
Tired children will bite one another.๐Ÿ˜ 
Tired children do not like to go to their beds, regardless of how tired they are.
Tired children like to wake up at 2am and play with their toys, with the light on, noisily enough to waken everyone so that they have someone to tell that they are NOT tired.
Tired children do NOT like to get dressed in the morning.
Tired children do NOT like it when you bounce into their bedrooms at 7am singing โ€œGood Morning, Good Moooooooorning!, opening curtains and declaring that it is time for school. (Especially the not tired children who have been up half the night playing with their fecking toys.๐Ÿ˜ˆ)
Tired children like to say โ€œNoโ€ and โ€œNoโ€ and sometimes, โ€œNoooooo!โ€ to absolutely EVERYTHING that Tired Mammy asks or suggests.

And along with tired children, comes the Tired Mammy. But as well as being a tired Mammy, Mammy ALSO has to be SUPER-ORGANISED Mammy.
Mammy needs to keep on top of the fridge situation.
Mammy needs to pack lunchboxes and school bags and afterschool bags.
Mammy needs to remember the fecking HORROR that is HOMEWORK.
Mammy needs to think about dinners sooner than when she opens the fridge at 6pm.
Mammy needs to set her alarm to make sure she gets out of bed 30 minutes before everyone else if Mammy wants to pee, shower and have a coffee all by herself.
Mammy needs to be an intelligent and functioning adult.
Mammy needs to rid her brain of references to Peppa Pig and Andy and Bing because they are not relevant to Macbeth and teenagers do NOT respond well to them.
Mammy needs to try to keep the washing basket from puking and Mammy needs to arrange everyoneโ€™s clothes before bedtime.
Mammy needs to remain relatively Wifely and interesting enough to hold a brief conversation with Tired Daddy when he comes home from Jim.
And Mammy needs to get used to wearing stupid heels and muckup every single day. (Iโ€™ll last until the end of Septemberโ€ฆ)
Mammy needs to cram all of the Mammying and playing and cuddling and scolding and fun into 3 hours in the evening, while being JUST as tired as her beloved Tired Children who are determined to PUNISH her tired ass for abandoning them in school and creche. (Even though they both LOVE where they go and actually CRY when they are collected.)
Mammy can not have grapes or gin during the week… ๐Ÿ˜›๐Ÿ˜›
Mammy struggles with balancing the Mammy guilt when sheโ€™s away from the girlies, and the urge to sell them on ETSY when sheโ€™s spent an hour being screamed at and cried at by her Tired Minions.

Mammy canโ€™t win.

In conclusion. Mammy does INDEED need to rejoice that she has made it to Friday night, has the tired minions in bed, her feet up and the grapes poured. ๐Ÿ˜‚And now Mammy needs all of her Lovely Supermums to say Hello and remind her of what I have been missing while abandoning you all this week while trying to keep 286 plates spinning without falling off her heels and onto her poor, muck-uped, Mammy-guilty face.

Cheers Bitcheepoos. xxx

I am Simple Things Mum

I wanted to write to all the Mammies and Daddies whose little people are starting school this week.
I waited for the words to come, and then realised I had already written them. This night last year, I was the Mammy dealing with Mini-Me’s first day at school. I was a snottery, red-eyed, blubbering mess and she was happy out! Behind every perfectly turned out child walking through the school gates this week, there’s a good chance that there’s an emotional wreck of a parent, waving frantically, desperately trying to hold it all together.

To all the Mammies and Daddies drying their baby’s hair this week as they gead off to “big school”, I send my love. And to everyone who told me last year “She’ll be grand”, thank you. Turns out, you were all absolutely right.

๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–Drying your hair๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–

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 start the hairdryer, and then they begin;
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,
While Mammy tries to order her feelings 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.

(The S-Mum 2016)


#SMum #snotterseverywhere #sobbingmess #startingschool

I am Such a GENIUS Mum ๐Ÿ˜˜

Mammy is a genius.

A feckin genius I tell you.

As Mini-Meโ€™s ability to COMPLETELY ignore me becomes increasingly professional, I find myself sometimes wondering HOW the FECK to get her to do even the most simple daily tasks?

My orders, my requests and any other hint of a suggestion of her doing something that might please me, seem to float around her head, never quite making contact with her ears. Usually, it’s only when I SHOUT or SCREAM that she eventually acknowledges that my voice HAS in fact been sending massive soundwaves in her direction.

She’s just chosen NOT to surf them. ๐Ÿ˜‚

And even when she finally acknowledges that I’ve asked her to do something, she still finds 162 ways to procrastinate or forget or simply not be able to do it.

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Put on your Pjs please Darling.”

“Mini-Me I am not going to ask you again…”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?!” (Add eye roll or exasperated sigh for effect.)

“I’ve asked you to Put on your Pjs. Get them on right now.”

“But where ARE they?” (Still watching Tellybox/making jigsaw/rolling on the floor etc…)

“Wherever you left them. Now go put them on!”๐Ÿ˜ก

“But…” insert random WTF-inducing excuse/problem/comment here.

“PUT ON YOUR PJS NOOOOOOOOOOW!” Screaming BansheeMammy appears.

“Okay! Okay!” Stomps down hall, muttering something about “no need to shout”. (Little twatsickle.)

Mammy sighs in deluded, false victory, before being interrupted by “MAMMEEEEEEE. I can’t FIND them!” or some other shite like that, then stomps down hall, muttering and swearing to find her standing right in FRONT of the fucking Pajamas, which are the ONLY thing lying on the floor, but which are seemingly fucking INVISIBLE to my daughter.

Cue scolding, fighting, retaliation, defiance, huffing, puffing, threatening, snarling, crying and Mammy eventually putting the fecking things ON HER. (It’s that or throw them AT HER. Bad Mammy. No! Terrible thoughts Mammy.)

Different night, same old shite. Until tonight. Tonight, Mammy is a genius. The requesting, finding and putting ON of the fecking PJs took a whole 1 MINUTE AND 37 SECONDS.

I SHIT YOU NOT.

Why?

Because as I was about to ask her for the first time to “Put on your Pjs please Darling”, I opened the cupboard and spotted this๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡ and I had a brainwave.

“Oooooh look what Mammy found! I know, let’s have a race!” (Singsongy voice, think Mary-of-the-poppins.) “I’m going to time you to see how quickly you can put on ypu Pjs. Will we see what number we can get?”

“Yay! I LOVE races!”

“On your marks, get set…GO!” And I swear to God, she slid sideways back into the kitchen, fully dressed in her fricken PJs, a whole minute and a half later…

“Did I beat it?” (Not sure what she’s beating, but when it stops me wanting to beat my head off a brick wall, I’ll roll with it! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚)

“Of course you did, you are AMAZING!” And it was.

Amazing.

And I am a genius.

And I will try it again tomorrow night, but she’ll probably have copped on to me by then.

Ah well, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚ How was your day? ๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜

I am She loves her dodees Mum

S-Mum is a TUBE.

Little Miss Princess has a habit. She requires 3, yes THREE, dodees every night to go to bed; One in her mouth, and one in each fudgy little paw.

Mini-Me was the same. I think it’s cute that they have this little quirk in common. Yeah, yeah, she shouldn’t have a dodee at 20 months.

Yeah yeah, 3 dodees seems excessive.

Yeah yeah, your kid never takes a dodee… good for you.

But this little habit has allowed this Mamma and Pappa to have 12 hours sleep for 18 of the past 20 months so as long as she looks for the dodees, she shall get them. I’ll get them off her when she’s ready and I am able to deal with 3 or 4 nights of Demonic screaming, but I won’t stress too much about it to be honest. Have you ever seen a 17 year old with a dodee? (In public ๐Ÿ˜‚)

But recently, with the rather impressive development of her new friend Temper, ๐Ÿ‘ถPrincess has been participating in new behaviour, which quite frankly has a) become a royal pain in the arse and b) caused more than a few 5am mornings in the past few weeks. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก

You see, her new friend Temper, sometimes convinces her to throw her 3 dodees OUT through the bars of the cot, which then leads to dramatic sobs until one of us, (yes, ME), stumbles into the room to return the little feckers to her from the floor.

At 5.30am this morning, I was back in bed, listening to her scream and refusing point blank to go back into the room and I thought, for the 371st time that I must find and invest in one of the little teddies/taggies that my very clever sister-in-law has for her babies. You tie the dodees onto it and baby always has access to them at night time.

So today, I was in town TWICE, forgetting BOTH times to go looking for one of these little yoks which will CERTAINLY solve our problem. I was putting her down to bed tonight, cursing myself for forgetting and vowing in my head to hunt for one tomorrow. As I was leaving her room, I spotted this ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡ little taggy yok that has been in her nursey… SINCE MY BABY SHOWER… But which I’ve never ACTUALLY looked at properly.

Since my FECKING Baby shower!?

Seriously… Possibly bought by same clever sister-in-law. ๐Ÿ˜‚ And LOOKIT! The little ends of it unravel to allow you to TIE THE FECKING DODEES ONTO THEM!

This has been under my nose THE WHOLE TIME. And I didn’t even know.๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก So yes, S-Mum is a tube, but tonight I am a smug and happy tube who will HOPEFULLY NOT have to drag my sorry arse out of bed to pick up the dodees tonight…or at least until Temper decides to tell her to feck the full taggy out over the cot sides instead. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚ How was your day? ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜˜