I am Ssssssh Mum

So I’ve been suffering a bit from the oul writer’s block.

Well, actually, I’ve not REALLY. I’ve just been busy this past week or two.

It’s been less “Writer’s block” and more “Mammy’s focked!” πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

There comes a time every so often when this Mammy’s constant attempts to be a bouncing, caffeinated and enthusiasitc Duracell Bunny who has eleventy squillion plates spinning on one hand, while trying to squeeze 43 hours into a 24hour day, with a full time job AS WELL as being a fulltime Mammy, brings the blog to a little lull… and so by the time Mammy gets the girls and their random respective temperatures and snotters to bed each night this past week, Mammy has been fit for nothing else but planting her tired arse on the sofa. πŸ˜‚
Even the thought of looking at a screen for more than a few minutes hurt my brain.
So I didn’t.

When I get busyful like this, I tend to cool off the interweb for a bit. Yes, I still browse briefly, but I don’t post as much. (I delete the apps off my phone for a few days so I have to really BOTHER to look at them on other devices. It works. Try it!)

I try to stock up on ideas and fun to write about when I get myself back into the swing of it, (and trust me, these two are firing it at me!), but generally, I recharge the blog batteries by putting it on the backburner for a bit.
I’m still here. I’m just not putting pressure on myself to write and I’m not looking at the screen as much.

Social Media is great, but it does no harm every so often to remember that it’s not real and that ACTUALLY, you CAN survive for a few days without it. Life goes on, and it can suddenly become much more focused on the technicolourful wonder that it is, when we’re not being distracted by the little screen quite so much.

Mammy is looking forward to getting some blogs and posts put together this weekend, and normal smumbles will resume soon…just as soon as I recharge my OWN batteries! πŸ˜šπŸ˜‚

And just so you don’t think I’ve lost my mojo completely, here’s an update of the death of Michael Jackson… Mini-Me had to draw a picture at school of someone who she knew who had died … guess who she drew!?

Chat soon Ladybelles.
Happy nearly Friday Day!

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.πŸ˜‚)
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. πŸ˜†

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. 😐

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.πŸ˜₯
Tired children will bite one another.😠
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 β€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.😈)
Tired children like to say β€œNo” and β€œNo” and sometimes, β€œNoooooo!” 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 everyone’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. (I’ll last until the end of September…)
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… πŸ˜›πŸ˜›
Mammy struggles with balancing the Mammy guilt when she’s away from the girlies, and the urge to sell them on ETSY when she’s spent an hour being screamed at and cried at by her Tired Minions.

Mammy can’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. πŸ˜‚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 Such a GENIUS Mum πŸ˜˜

Mammy is a genius.

A feckin genius I tell you.

As Mini-Me’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. πŸ˜‚

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!”😑

“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 thisπŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡ 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! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚)

“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. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚ How was your day? 😘😘😘

I am She’s on the phone Mum

​”I’m just on da phone Mammy”

“OK Darling.”
I carried on cooking dinner, laughing to myself as she chittered and chattered away on the phone.  She rang her old preschool teacher and had a very convincing one way conversation that went like this…
“Hi Macewa. S’me.  Hi. Yeah. Scuse me Macewa, it’s me here.  I need to speak to Danyel. No not my sister Danyel, ypir kid Danyel.  Yeah..yeah.. no…no.”  Pausing at the proper times and everything.
It was about 100 on the adorascale.
Then, a few minutes later, she announced,

“Scuse me Mammy. I’m just talking to Gwanny Mum, can you pweeeeease be quiet?”

“Ok pet.  You chat to Granny.”
I battered on in the kitchen.  She was sitting on the window sill on the other side of the room having another conversation with Granny apparently.
“You see we took down the Halloween Decorations cos it’s Christmas and now we have to get ready for Santa and I didn’t get to see da fireworks but I did go Twickatweeting and can I come to your house for a sweepover later? Oh Ok Gwanny.  See ya! Byebyebyebyebyebye”
“You finished talking to Granny?” 

“Yup!” And off she went on her next imaginary adventure.
“Wee dote” thinks S-Mum to herself, wondering where on Earth she EVER got the Byebyebyebyebyebye. πŸ˜‚
Fast forward a few hours.

“Gwanny” calls.
We chat about the funeral she’d been at.  We talk about Princess’s nasty cold.  We talk about going wallpaper shopping on Friday.  She says she’ll call for a cuppa later. 

Pretty normal.
And then she asks “Did Mini-Me hang up properly that time?”
Sorry WHAT NOW?😲😲😲
“What you mean Mum?”

“After she called me earlier? Did she hang up afterwards?”
Hole…eeeeeeee shit.  πŸ˜²πŸ˜²πŸ˜²
The little rascal had apparently called Gwanny after all, and had a full conversation with her. 

When Granny asked her if Mummy knew that she was on the phone, her answer was “I’m just talking to Gwanny Mum, can you pweeeeease be quiet?”

And of course, Gwanny heard me answer “Ok darling. You chat to Granny” so obviously assumed that I’d dialed her number for her to have a wee chat.
Oh how Mummy laughed.  

And Oh how Granny laughed.

And THEN, Mummy started to replay the conversation and the PANIC of “JEEEEESUS what were we saying?” set in! Thankfully, all poor Gwanny heard was my bad singing as I cooked.
But I’ll tell ya.

The phone shall be locked from now on, or at least when she’s “playing” with it, we’ll be checking if she’s ACTUALLY playing.
Couldn’t watch her! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

I am Survived Hell and Back Mum

​I despise Peppa Pig.🐷

Yes, I said DESPISE!

No, I’m not going a bit too far.
She is a walking, talking, whining, obnoxious little lump of pork, with THE most annoying voice, who tells her Daddy he has a fat tummy, hangs up on her best friend when she is jealous and speaks to her brother George in the most patronising voice EVER! 

Peppa drives every Mummy, including Mummy Pig no doubt, to thinking about wine at 1pm.

She’s bratty and irritating and I TRY weekly (in vain) to BAN her from the tellybox in Smumble Hill.
BUT.

She and I do have ONE thing in common. 😐
We both love jumping in muddy puddles.
Yesterday I completed Hell & Back Hercules in Sligo.
Hell and Back is a 10k (12k really) obstacle course through muck and mud and rivers and all sorts of shit.  (It’s on a working farm🚜, so I do not exaggerate here.)
It.

Was.

AMAZING!!!!πŸ˜€
The start was the worst part for me.  Talk about the gates of hell…😈😈😈
We were met with AN ICE-BATH where you had to step in and duck yourself under a row of tyres to get out the other side. I am not a fan of water and I surprised myself when I did it. I’d like to say it’s because I’m so brave…in reality, I’m just far too STUBBORN for my own good. 

I jumped in, took a deep breath, closed my eyes and pinched my nose and under I went. 
I emerged gracefully, like a dolphin leaping beautifully from the sea, without even a ripple behind me and landed like a gymnast…
Yeah.

My arse.
I remember as I emerge flailing and gasping like a fish that I wear contact lenses and so I have to get my eyes wiped dry before I can open them.  I’m trying to wipe them, but the stupid gloves I’m wearing are simply sloshing more water onto my face.  I know there are others trying to get out behind me so I have to get out quick.  There’s a steward shouting “Focus FOCUS!” at me. I’m shouting back another F word which I shall not repeat right now. He tries to help me out, but the next cretur behind me tumbles me as He emerges from the hell bath and I “graciously” FALL arse first out of the big container and ONTO “Focus Fecker”.  In his defence, he catches me, slaps me on the back and kindly and encouragingly screams “GO! GO! GOOOOO!”
Good start.  

But nothing could be worse for me than that start, so off we go!
We wade through rivers, jump over ditches, clamber over round bales, sink into muck, slide down hills, climb over nets and tree logs, fall into sludge, get stuck in the mud, lose shoes…
We get slapped in the face by rogue briars, and stung on the arse by PAINTBALLS as we run through forests.

We get ELECTROCUTED as we crawl under obstacles and SCRATCHED by barbed wire if we don’t keep our bums low to the ground.
We jump, leap, crawl, run, slip, slide and fall.
It’s like The Blair Witch Project combined with The Hunger Games … with a bit of Carry On Camping thrown in for good measure. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚
The sounds are memorable.

We hear screams behind us and ominous cheers ahead of us. 

There’s some swearing…

 OK. Swearing us the language in Hell and Back. There is a LOT of swearing.
But mostly, laughter.

Glorious, bellyaching, snorting and snaughling laughter.

Strangers help strangers.

 We get encouragement from people who we’ve never met before. 

We get pulled over walls and pushed up slopes and no one really gives a hoot who owns the hand that has the misfortune of pushing your arse up or over! 
I surprised MYSELF with how easy I found most of it.  I’m fitter than I give myself credit for. I am good at jumping, not bad at falling πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚and I can lift my leg higher than I thought I could! πŸ˜‚ Although the course was long and exhausting, I did it no bother. I think I even surprised the Him. πŸ‘€
But what I wasn’t prepared for, was the comeraderie.

28 of the Rushe Fitness gang went to Hell yesterday and I must thank them for being the nicest, kindest, funniest shower of head-the-balls that I’ve ever had the pleasure to spend a day rolling in the mud with!  

Even those who finished earlier, waited at the 10ft wall to help the rest of us over, and then we all ran through the finish line together. As a team.
It’s tough.

It’s 12km of mayhem, but it’s easily the MOST FUN I’ve had in a long time.

I was 10 again, running through the farm, getting stuck in muck and “accidentally” shocked by electric fencing.

We were grown ups on an adventure.

We were splashing in muddy puddles.
And at the end, I had the nicest Pulled Pork Bap I’ve ever tasted. 😈😈😈
Gotta love Peppa and her muddy puddles don’t ya? 🐷
Look at how shiny and white we were at the start?


But look at how happy we look at the end! πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

Hope you all had a lovely weekend Ladybelles. I’m off for a bath full of Epsom salts…πŸ’–??πŸ’–πŸ’–πŸ’–
#hellandback #hellandback2016 #SMum #rushefitness #muddymummy #peppapig

I am Smashed Cup Mum

​What do you get when you cross a cup and a bin lorry?

Let me tell you a story on this Fablis Friday evening…
Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Princess Mini-Me.  One day, OVER a year ago, Granny brought Mini-Me to a pottery cafe.  

Mini-Me painted a cup, much like the one in the image below.  As Mini-Me was just about to become a Big Sister, they decided that the cup would hereforth be known as “Big Sister cup”.


Cute so far eh?
Mini-Me brought her new cup home and for 3 whole months, the Big Sister Cup sat in the cupboard, where Mini-Me pretty much ignored it, apart from the odd day when she took a notion to ask for it.
Then, one fateful, cursed day, Mini-Me dropped the cup and it smashed into 3 million Smithereens, all over the kitchen floor. Cinderella’s glass slipper didn’t have a look in and THIS fairy Good-GOD-mother, didn’t have a CHANCE of fixing it.  
And so the Big Sister Cup went to the big cupboard in the sky.  OK, I exaggerate.  It went INTO the bin, AWAY in the Bin Lorry and OUT of our minds…


A few months later, it was mentioned again out of the blue.
We drove past a Bin Lorry. She started to shout “Follow THAT BIN LOWEEEEE!” and “BIG SISTER CUP!”

We laughed (Hahahaha!) and hugged her and gently explained, once again, that the cup was BROKEN and it was GONE.

And they all lived happily ever after…

Until this evening.
8 MONTHS LATER…As the Poor Queen S-Mum collected Mini-Me from school, she was summoned by the very lovely teacher, who informed her that Mini-Me had cried for 45 minutes after breaktime.  She was VERY upset apparently, and try as she might, Teacher could NOT figure out what had caused the Tootsy One’s meltdown.

“She kept talking about a cup for her sister?” said Teacher.

“Huh?” said S-Mum.  (Not a single clue.)

“And something about a bin lorry?”

(Penny drops.  Oh. DEAR. GOD…) 

“Aaaaaah! Darling, did you see a Bin Lorry at Breaktime?” ventured S-Mum. 

“Yush Mammy and I wanted my Big sister cup back…”
Well I won’t go into the verbal diahorrea that began projecting from my mouth to try to explain to Teacher why my Daughter had FALLEN APART at the sight of a bin lorry.  πŸ˜πŸ˜πŸ˜
Because, it’s just too fricken weird and too hilariously ridiculous and is YET another example of how S-Mum may get used to feeling COMPLETE MORTIFICATION AND CONFUSION for the foreseeable future.

It seems to come with the territory.

  It should be part of the instructions on the Pregnancy test… “Pee on stick, Wait for line, Get used to being confused about EVERYTHING.” πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚
So what do you get when you cross a cup with a bin lorry?
An ABSOLUTE TRAUMA which will continue to cause Mini Meltdowns WELL into the teenage years apparently.
I smell grapes.🍷🍷🍷
Happy Friday Lovelies.πŸ’–

Watch out for the Bin Lorries. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

I am So like a Unicorn Mum! πŸ¦„πŸ¦„

​Another typical car journey from school…
Herself: “Mammy, did you fart?” 
Indignation! 😲
Me: “No I did NOT!”

Herself: “Well it smells like fart.”

Me: “Well it wasn’t me.  Anyway, you know Mammy only farts glitter.”

Her: “Oh, are you like a unicorn?”πŸ¦„πŸ¦„πŸ¦„

Me: “A unicorn?”

Her: “Yeah a UNICORN.  You know how they fart glitter too Mammy? So you’re like a unicorn.”

Me: ” Yes.  Mammy IS like a unicorn.”πŸ¦„

 

Mammy is quite liking the idea of being compared to a FABLIS, majestic, mysterious and beautifully elusive mythical being.

 Mammy drifts off on a tangent of thought in which my first book is entitled “MOTHERHOOD: TALES OF GLITTER FARTING UNICORNS”… and on the cover, I am styled in a multicoloured unicornesque dress, clattered in glitter and looking all unicorny and wistful and magical.
Her: “So if you’re like a unicorn, does you burp rainbows too?”

(I’m enjoying this now.)

Me: “Yes, Yes I am Sweetheart.  Mammy burps rainbows!”🌈

Her: “And does dat mean you’re horny like a unicorn?”πŸ¦„

Me: “Erm…. 😲😲😲
The title of my book may have changed slightly…

 “MOTHERHOOD: TALES OF A HORNY, GLITTER-FARTING RAINBOW-BURPER.” πŸ¦„πŸŒˆπŸ¦„
Who wants to pre-order?

πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

I am Still watching RTE Junior Mum!

​Well.

How was your Friday Ladybelles?
Mine was pretty uneventful and rather enjoyable really.  

We spent the afternoon with my lovely sister and her babies on Walton Mountain.  It was noisy.  GOOD GOD it was noisy, but oh the fun.

They head off again tomorrow and then we shall miss all the noise immensely and be very sad, so today’s noise was precious and wonderful.
I have two cream-crackered little girls tucked up in bed now after all the noise and cousin fun.  
Have you ever been so glad of the quiet when you return to the living room after their bedtime, that you just sit there, staring at the TV…before realising after 10 minutes that you’re watching the “Holy Jesus Thank God it’s over…Right Minions, it’s bedtime!” RTE Junior Screen!?πŸ˜‚


Well that’s what I’ve just done.

Then, this popped up on my timeline and it was OBVIOUSLY a SIGN wasn’t it?


Afterall, it IS Friday. πŸ’™πŸ’—
It’d be rude not to!

I don’t have prosecco but non-fizzy grapes will have to suffice.
(And I do have to celebrate as it’s now less than a week until the #LWIBloggies2016 awards, AND

I’ve just found out that a very dear friend is in the Bumpy Way and so I now need to toast her and her inability to drink grape juice for the next few months. More for me! πŸ·πŸ˜‰)
So it’s time to turn the Tellybox over to something else, (Yup. The remote is on the other sofa!), and pop open a wee bottle. 😈

Obviously, Mini-Me and Princess shall sleep until at least 9.30am…

Yeah.
My arse!

But you can’t blame a girl for hoping can you?
Cheers Bitcheepoos!🍷

Have a Fablis Friday night and thanks to everyone who is reading and liking and sharing. It means a lot and makes me smile. 😘😘😘

I am Soooo a Finalist Mum!

​Ok.

I have news…
Who would like to celebrate with S-Mum on this Tuesday evening? 
 Guess who is a Littlewoods Ireland Blog Awards 2016 FINALIST?
In BOTH categories! 😲😲😲

I’m fricken gobsmacked Ladybelles.

Thank you to everyone who voted for me.  I truly appreciate ALL of your support.πŸ’—
When I was nominated, I was chuffed.  Getting long-listed and then shortlisted was one surprise after another, but this is AMAZING!


Now, there is the small matter of an awards ceremony in Dublin on the 15th.
Wtf does one wear to a Circus themed party? πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚
I’m about to start the sticking on of the labels on the school stuff for Mini-Me here.  I shall now be doing so while looking like the Cheshire Cat. πŸ˜‚


And I think I deserve a wee drinkeepoo, don’t you?
Cheers Supermums. πŸ·πŸ’—πŸ·πŸ’—πŸ·πŸ’—πŸ·
#LWIBloggies #LWIBlogawards2016 #LWIBloggies2016 #SMum #finalist

I am So excited Mum

S-Mum is VERRRRRY excited today.

I woke up to this picture.

The lovely folk at Maternity & Infant magazine have featured me as their Blog We Log in theor Autumn edition.

It’s very surreal and wonderfully smilifying to see my words in real live PRINT! 

So because I woke up an A-list CELEBRITY TYPE, I obviously had to go to THE Stylist to the Stars to get my WhinBush tamed.

Ciara Mc Veigh-Lunn is currently Beautifying my mane.😘
One HAS to be looking all naturally fablis and suitably shocked when one greets the Papps who are OBVIOUSLY going to be waiting outside when I try to leave.  
I may have to hire security.
I wonder if Victoria B would consider being my friend now? We could have cawfee and be fablis together. 

 (She’d obvs have to change her hairdresser to be as cool as me.) 
We should be BFFs anyway.
Our Mini-Mes are the same age and we both have fit Hims and we’re practically identical anyway like! I wonder what size her shoes are? Imagine sharing her wardrobe… 😲😲😲

Sigh…
Did I tell you my mug and S-mumblings are in PRINT this morning?πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

Do you think I have enough copies? πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

It is a Thoroughly Fablis Thursday.

Have a good one Bitcheepooooos xxx