I am She’s a Wagon is Roz Mum

Mammy’s jeep is called “Roz”.

I got her the same day I got the part of Roz in our production of 9 to 5 last winter. And so it seemed apt to name her Roz.   Beats Betsy or the yok, doesn’t it?

Roz is very fablis, but mostly, she is fablis because she can talk to me. Roz is like a real life person. If I am in the car on my own, I don’t have to feel lonely.  I just have to press a wee button and say something and I am guaranteed that Rozzie will answer me. She is my friend. She does what she’s told and unlike my minions doesn’t answer me back. Now granted, 80% of the time Roz says things like “Phone not detected” or “I’m sorry. Can you repeat please?”  And because she has an American accent, sometimes she misunderstands my ineloquent Donegalisms and will dial random numbers of people I haven’t spoken to in years.  In fact, one of the first nights I was driving her, I decided to show off to my sister.

“Call Lorr-aine” I ordered, slowly and in my “How-now-brown-cow” voice.  “Calling Laura Aynder…”

“FAAAAAAACK”  Mammy was screaming, frantically hitting the lever to end the call before it began.  The only reason the number Roz was dialling is still on my phone, is to make sure I don’t answer that wagon if she ever rings me. (Name changed obviously! I do not know any wagonish Lauras.)

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And so, I learned to be verrrrrrrrry clear and precise in my instructions to her.

One of the other fablis tricks Roz has is to read messages if they come in while I’m driving.  And so, on Saturday, half way up the dual carriageway, the radio is interrupted by “New Message”.  I get quite excited as I haven’t heard that in a while, and reply “Read Message”.  I don’t often be getting the oul messages anymore, as everyone now uses Snaptwat and Instagranny to communicate. I miss the ould messages so I do.

Message from 087…I don’t know the number. Oooooh the excitement.

“Hi Maaaaar-eeeaaaa.  Japonica* would like toooooo INVITE your Mini-Meeee TO HER Birthday Partay fullstop on Sat next at 3pim in Partywaaruld. I dooooo hope sheeeee can make it.  ex ex Exclamation mark”.

Mammy is instantly regretting hitting play. Not because of the text, but because Mini-Me has now HEARD the message. Let me explain. If she is able to attend a birthday party, I tend to NOT tell her about it until the day before. Because you see if anything were to come up and our plans had to change, I can not be dealing with the apoplectic melt-down that Mini-Me likes to have. Also, it is good parenting practice to have some blackmail/bait for behaviour rectification up one’s sleeve, is it not?

Shit shit shit shit, how shall Mammy get out of this one.

Mini-Me has not responded.  She is sitting quietly.  I’m about to engage with the idea that she hasn’t actually heard the message until I glance in the rear-view mirror and see that her jaw is actually on the floor.

“Oh My GOD Mammy! Did you HEAR that?”

“Hear what pet?” (shit)

“Roz has just invited me to my own birthday party on Saturday!”

“Huh?” (fookity fook…)

“Your friend Roz has just told you that I have to go to my birthday party on Saturday!”

“WHY would you be having a birthday party on Saturday?  It’s not your birthday!”

“But she said “HER” birthday. Maybe I’m having a party for my 6 and 3/4 birthday!” (WTF?)

“You are not 6 and 3/4 and you are not having a birthday party on Saturday.”

“But if it isn’t MY birthday, why are we having a party?”

“We’re NOT having a party…”

“Oh my Pancake Mammy!” (Yes, this is something we say apparently…)  “Is Roz having a party?”

“Roz is a car”

“Yeah, but she’s real.  Sure how would she know about my party if she wasn’t?”

“We aren’t having a party.  Japonica is having a party. Roz is just reading the message from Japonica’s mummy.”

“DOh my GOSH!? Is Roz friends with Japonica’s Mammy too?”

What does Mammy even say to that? And what exactly does she think Roz is? Does she think I carry a little Gollumesque little American woman around under the bonnet?

I don’t by the way, but I also am trusting Roz less and less.  I’m foreseeing some I-robot shit going down some evening, where I decide I’m going one place, and Roz decides I’m not.

Now, to delete some numbers off my phone!

I am She Locked the Car Mum

Things I learned about the capabilities of my “Twoublemaker” today…

1. She can delete and uninstall apps on my phone much more effectively than I can.

2. She knows how to unlock my phone.

3. She knows how to lock my car.

I found THIS particular gem out today, when she locked it… while she and Mini-Me were IN it… and Mammy was NOT.

Sweet Jeebus Ladybelles. If ever there was something to make Mammy want a gin on a Monday night…

Have you ever thought about how something could happen, JUST as it happens? She had the keys in her hand, having swiped them out of my pocket as I strapped her in. I was on the other side of the car, strapping her sister into HER (hellfienduselesspieceofcrapthatitis) carseat and just as I closed the door, I remembered that Princess had the keys.

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I swear to God, the 0.12 seconds it took my hand to go for the handle and for my brain to register that her LOCKING the fecking thing was even a possibility, were slow motion.

Just as I tried to pull it open, I heard the sound; the heavy, chunking clunking sound that told me that she had indeed locked the car.

“Faaaaaak, I’ve locked them in!” calls Mammy to no one in particular.

2 seconds later and I’m trying to get Mini-Me to unbuckle her straps and to get the keys off her Divil of a shitster. She’s trying to follow my instructions through the closed window and then I remember the guy who sold me the car a few weeks ago, saying something about an alarm.
And then it happens.
The alarm that is indeed standard in my yok, began to scream at me. Mini-me began to scream at me, and because she had just procured the keys from the culprit, Twoublemaker ALSO was screaming.

Mammy? Mammy wanted to scream, but instead Mammy remained very calm and talked Mini-Me through how to open the car, calmly and rationally like in a hostage negotiator… In MY head anyway. I possibly looked and sounded more like a a drunk Granny who’s losing at charades after Christmas dinner.

Anyway, by this stage 2 hours had passed. Or rather 23 second, but the owner of the playschool, and funnily enough my next door neighbour, had come running and so even if she hadn’t gotten the doors to pop, I’m pretty sure there would have been a crowbar or a hammer in hand quickly.

Once I heard the clunky chunky sound again, my two knees nearly went from under me in pure relief. I hugged Mini-me and told her how WONDERFUL she was and promised her treats and hot chocolate as a reward for saving the day.

Of course, when the adrenalin had left me, I also used it as an excuse to remind her “See how brilliant you are when you listen to Mammy and follow instructions? You are the BEST GIRL EVER!”
And yes, OF COURSE, Mammy learned a lesson other than that my car has an alarm.
I learned TWO lessons actually.

1. NEVER give a twoublemaker your car keys and
2. Maybe I should have listened to the salesman when he was going through the features of the car rather than wondering what I should wear to look uber FabMammy on my first day driving!

#turbotwat #mammyfail #rascals

 

I am “Say What Mummy Pig?” Mum

Now. You all know how much I love/hate Peppa Pork.

Most days, it doesn’t even register with my brain that it’s on, apart from when Princess screams “Paaapaaaaa!” at the top of her voice at the Tellybox. As much as I despise the nasal whining of Peppa as she bitches about everything her life throws at her, bosses George around, ignores Mammy and humiliates her Daddy for being fat, this squeal of delight from my youngest also indicates to ME that I have 3 minutes to pee, or shower, or breathe.

See? Love/hate. 😂

Usually their little Piggy voices wash over my head. I pay little attention to the spoilt little piggy and her mono-wordallic brother or her poor, underappreciated Mammy Pig (who quite frankly HAS to be mixing her happy pills with gin and valium under the stairs in order to maintain such a chirpy disposition amidst this level of feckin stupidity), but today, TODAY, Mammy Pig said something SO utterly RIDICULOUS and SO obviously STUPID, that my ears had to prick up.

😐 “Naughty Daddy” quipped Mummy Pork. “Look at how dirty your car is!”

Right. Back up there Bacon-arse.

Let’s rewind a second here…😡

In what world, on what planet, in which TIME ZONE, would the Mammy have to chastise the DADDY for having a messy car? Because in the REAL world, the parent who has the children 90% of the time, has the car which is messy. EVERYONE knows that.

Actually, the second the car seat goes into the family car, it transforms magically into a bin on wheels. The floor becomes invisible under mountains of crap, never to be seen again until your youngest is approximately 11 years old. Things get sticky. Things become unsettlingly dirty. Things begin to grow on upholstery…No matter how OCD you are about tidy and clean, any chance you have of keeping a tidy car, go out the window at the same time as your “Eminem” CD or “Book of Mormon” Soundtrack.

Even when you attempt to organise the back seat, you know with wee boxes and containers, all you are REALLY doing, is adding MORE CRAP to the mess; adding MORE STUFF for them to chuck around when you’re driving… So considering that Daddy Pig said that he’d take the family on a car run for “a treat”, thereby suggesting that he is in the car ALL BY HIMSELF 99% of the fecking time, FORGIVE ME for wondering why the fook his car would be messy!?

Because in MY experience, it’s Mammy Pig’s car that is disgusting and dirty and messy, while Daddy’s still looks like it did the day he drove it out of Daddy Dog’s garage and the little Piggies aren’t ALLOWED to eat in Daddy Pig’s car, because they’re never IN IT long enough to BREAK Daddy’s soul or drive him to screaming “Just EAT IT THEN!”

So well done Peppa Pork writers. So much for providing realistic and relevant subject matter in your multicoloured portrayal of the life of piggies. See if it had been Daddy opening Mammy Pig’s car and shouting “WTF is going on with your car woman? It’s fecking MINGING!” I’d probably have sat down with them to watch it.

Fecking Peppa.

Bacon for dinner anyone? 😂

I am Setting her in the Car Mum

Have you ever wondered what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? 😭😭
Let me show you.  👇👇👇

Imagine the inner monologues of the Mammy and the Princess…😂
Mammy:  “I shall gently set my perfect little Princess into her car seat and strap her in securely and we shall be on our merry way to continue the 287 errands I am trying to get done before we pick Mini-Me up. I am a very organised and clever Mammy who has ALL of my shit together and can not be stopped by anything today.  I shall put Princess into the car and drive to my next destination without any issue.”
Princess: “Will you feck Wench…” 
Mammy: “I am in charge. I am a strong Lady. I shall NOT be controlled by a wobbler.”
Princess : “How’s that going for you Woman?”
Mammy: “Oh how strong you are my Little Princess. Not to worry. I WILL get you into the carseat. I AM in charge.  I am strong.  I am in control.”
Princess: “You are a twit. I can do this ALL DAY Bitch.”
Mammy  “Why are you so strong, you stubborn little fart?”
Princess “Where do you think I get it from?”
Mammy “FML”
How was YOUR day? Any little planks? 😭😭
Have you found me on Facebook yet? Daily smumbles @the.s.mum xx