I am State-of-your-car Mum!

โ€‹His n’ Hers…
“Your car’s a bloody state.”

That was The Him’s first mistake today.

He never really had a hope after that.
He got the raised eyebrow, jetted chin and icy glare which can be translated into:
“Is it really? Well THANK CHRIST you are able to point that out to me. Aren’t you the kind, considerate husband with the observational skills of Jason Fricken Bourne? HOW have I not noticed that my car looks like my children actually live, eat and excrete EXCLUSIVELY in my car? And ACTUALLY I am going for a bespoke, personalised look known as “Mum Car”,  which is exclusive to the Mummies and as yet unheard of to most Daddies. Because YOU only have the MessMonsters in your car on a bloody Sunday, when we are allowed to enter the shiny, showroom-perfection of the new Batmobile if we venture out as a family. And YOU don’t allow eating in the Hims car. And for some reason Mini-Me ACTUALLY accepts this in YOUR car because it’s a special FRICKEN Sunday car, like when we had Sunday clothes as children. Remember that? And we put them away until the following Sunday when we’d be allowed to wear them again? That’s what it’s like. So thank you for pointing out yet ANOTHER thing on my never-ending to-do list that I can’t get DOING because I always have two Crazy Frogs with me who need fed and entertained and even sometimes washed! So yes, my car is a BLOODY STATE! And if you had these two in your Manmobile for ONE FRICKEN WEEK, you might not be so smug Mister. And if you don’t like it, CLEAN IT!” ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ
Obviously, The Him understood my subtext perfectly. 

We’re very in synch me and the Him.

He is very clever.

He has seen that look before.

He knows he will not achieve ANYTHING other than a bollocking or violence from it.

He finished strapping Princess in and smiled at me and announced “You look pretty.” 
Well played you big brute.๐Ÿ‘ค

Well played.
For the record, my car is actually quite unusually TIDY at the minute.  ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚I pride myself on the current absence of banana skins and dropped smarties. And I KNOW what everything in there is.  There are no unknown, dangerous looking or toxic things growing beneath their seats.  I can still get a VERY faint smell of the Yankee car freshener from Christmas AND there are only 3 dodees on the floor.

I call that a Mammy Win. ๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ž๐Ÿ’ช
Tell me it’s not just me?

Tell me your cars are awfully dirty and messy and that you could lose a small dog in the chaos of the backseat?๐Ÿ•
Hope you all had a Super Sunday. Not bad for November is it? ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
Goodnight my Lovelies.
(Ps. I got a few messages today asking where I got the mustard top I wore last night.

Asda. 

ยฃ12. 

I shit you not. โคโค)
Can you guess which one is His? ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡

I am Slightly Grumpy Mum

โ€‹Well the Princess has found two things this morning…

1. Her temper

2. Her voice.
She has just spent 21 minutes shouting defiance and protest at being put down for her nap.  She was so completely knackered but we have to give her credit for her determination and stubborness.  It was like getting that one friend who claims they’re “not dhrunk” to lie down and go to sleep.  She is currently collapsed in a heap in the cot, bum in the air, face planted on the drool soaked mattress. 

Headstrong stubborn little fart.

She’s so like The Him.๐Ÿ‘ค๐Ÿ˜‚
Meanwhile, in the peaceful and quiet kitchen, the red lights on the screaming moniter have desisted, I am FINALLY eating breakfast and Mini-Me is earning her keep by sorting through the bottomless underwear box. Have to teach them values and responsibilities don’t we? (It has NOTHING to do with the fact that I HATE THAT JOB!)

She is fablis. ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–


The Him๐Ÿ‘ค has buggered off to town to buy himself a new right arm.  His old one broke yesterday.

Its screen has decided to go to an eternal sleep and so his access to the virtual reality that he needs so badly is gone.  So it’s off to “RightArm Warehouse” with him so that the pain subsides and the colour returns to his ashen, sickly face. ๐Ÿ˜ก

After watching him try in vain for 2 hours to revive my old banished i-phone, I eventually screamed at him to go buy a new fricken right arm before I shoved one of the right arms he had dismantled somewhere unspeakable, where it would get even more broken than it already is. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก

If only health insurance covered the loss of one’s right arm…

I had plans to do lots of fun stuff today, but my brain or wardrobe weren’t quite prepared for FECKIN NOVEMBER, so I’m refusing point blank to leave the house.

Instead, I’m going to have a relaxing day at home.๐Ÿ–๐Ÿท๐Ÿ˜‚

Yeah.

Relaxing my arse. 

The washing basket is puking in the corner and I need to find the floor in our bedroom, because it’s gone missing.
If any of my dear not-just-FB-friends fancy calling for coffee, feel free…but don’t bother unless you bring chocolate.

 Or cake.

Or chocolate cake. ๐ŸŽ‚๐Ÿฉ๐Ÿฐ

(See how Mammy knows that it’s WAAAAAY too early for grape-juice? Clever Mammy.)
I might be a grumpy cow ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿฎtoday… do I sound grumpy?๐Ÿ˜‚

Might need more coffee… ๐Ÿ˜ช๐Ÿ˜ช๐Ÿ˜ช

I am Suspicious Mum…ย 

โ€‹S-Mum is suspicious.
It seems that my perfectly dysfunctional little family unit survived quite well in my absence this weekend.  I came home to clean children and a tidy house.  I was impressed. ๐Ÿ˜…
Even more suspicious is the fact that Mini-Me has been BEAUTIFULLY behaved today. ๐ŸŒž๐ŸŒž๐ŸŒž

Like all day.

I didn’t have to scold or shout once.

And when I spoke, she actually listened…mostly. 
Seriously.  Something is not right.
Usually I automatically say things between 4 and 6 times in one breath, with the volume increasing each time. 

“Get off the baby…get off the baby…Get off the baby…Get off the baby…GET OFF THE FECKIN BABEEEEEEEEEEEY,” can happen up to 14 times a day.
Other lines I LOVE to repeat OVER & OVER ARE:

Put on your shoes please. 

Where are your socks?

Eat your dinner.

Get off the baby. (It happens a lot.)

Wash your hands please.

Where are your pjs?

Will you put down that feckin phone? (At the Him, not the girls obviously. Although I’d be as well saying it to Princess…or the Dog in fact. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก)
I say these lines about 578 times each day and most of the time, I end up SCREAMING them before anyone even HEARS me.
But no.

  Today, Mini-Me was great.  She was quite fablis and now, she’s IN BED… NOT hiding outside the living door underneath the clothes-rack! 

She’s IN BED.

ASLEEP ๐ŸŽ‰๐ŸŽŠ๐ŸŽ‰๐ŸŽŠ.
My beautiful little angelic cherub is on her way to dreamland where hopefully she’ll dream of our AMAZING peaceful and non-screamingful day and her subconscious, or fairies or something, will teach her that THIS is how life SHOULD BE. 

Then, she’ll awaken from her slumber (after 8am) and continue on her streak of utter Fabulosity and perfection.

And I shall NEVER scream again.

And I will NEVER be cross again.

And I shall NEVER feel like NO ONE FRICKEN LISTENS TO ME!

And we shall all live happily ever after… until the Him comes home and looks at his phone instead of at me… ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
But tonight, I shall relish the VERRRRRRRRRY unusual feeling of a FULL DAY OF MUMMY WINS and rest my voice, because in reality, I’ll probably need it tomorrow!
What’s your “FAVOURITE” line that you LOVE to use?  You know? 

Over and over and over and over and over….๐Ÿท

I am Some reality Mum

For anyone who complains that Mummy bloggers portray an unrealistic and ideal life… they’re reading the wrong bloggers.

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Mini-Me has upped her Bitch-game this evening. Seriously, there are teenagers with less attitude.
Am trying to remind myself that “a strong-willed daughter will be a strong woman, able for anything the world can throw at her.” Whatever…

Tonight, SHE threw EVERYTHING at me before bed. Tantrums, crying, huffing, puffing and death stares. She threw herself onto her bed, arm across her face, sighing and declaring dramatically “I am just FED UP.” (Looks through elbow to see if she’s getting required reaction.)

I had to leave the room; Part of me laughing at how hilarious she is, part of me DYING a little inside that I saw myself in front of my own eyes. ๐Ÿ˜ณ๐Ÿ˜ณ๐Ÿ˜ณ
Bad Mammy.
Bad, not-doing-anything-right, setting-seriously-bad-examples, fucking-my-child’s-emotional-responses, opposite-of-positive-parenting BAAAAAAD MAMMY.

Deep breaths. Compose oneself. Remember who is in charge…
(Little voice… “She is. She’s in charge you Crazy Woman…”) ๐Ÿ˜ˆ

I eventually got her settled, read “The Dinosaur that Pooped the Bed” and tucked her in.
Then I came up the hall to THIS MESS.๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡

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I don’t even know where to start, and so I’m ranting to you, my lovely S-Mummies ๐Ÿ’–, to avoid it…

And to stop myself from pouring a HUMONGOUS grape-juice. ๐Ÿท๐Ÿ˜‚

On a BRIGHTER NOTE… ๐ŸŒž๐ŸŒž๐ŸŒž

I almost puked in public today. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

Week three of #operationskinnyarse began with the most terrifying and dreaded piece of equipment in the gym…
The mat.
I shit you not. It turns out that the most torturous, challenging, hardcore machine in there is my own fricken bodyweight and a mat.
Who knew?

Hope your Monday was equally as wonderful as mine.
Maybe Winnie the Poop was right! ๐Ÿ˜‚

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Over and out…
๐Ÿ›Œ๐Ÿ›๐Ÿ›Œ๐Ÿ›

#SMum #Mammyblogger #Mummy #MiniMeAndPrincess #glammymammy #meandmygirls #parentblogger #RealStruggles #reallife

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I am Stupid teething Mum

S-Mum ย is VERRRRRY tired.

Princess had her first restless night in ages. Stupid teeth. ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜  The wee dote had a raging temperature all night and would have sucked the full tube of bonjella had I let her. ย She’s up since 6am and has the dirtiest big red spot on her wee cheek.

It’s now 7am.

She’s on her second dribble bib.

I’m on my second coffee.

Mini-Me was exactly the same when she was teething: temperature, spot, tooth.

In that order.

Every time.

Isn’t it terrible that getting something as simple as teeth can be so bloody sore on them? ๐Ÿ˜ฉ๐Ÿ˜ฉ
Meanwhile, The Him is enroute to some foreign county to climb over walls and run around a field full of mud with his buddies from Jim. ย They’ll wade through rivers, crawl under electric wires and clamber over obstacles, getting muck in places that muck should NEVER be. I’m not even going to bother cleaning the bathroom today because he’ll be leaking magic muck from his pores for the next week anyway.

In fairness, it’s all for charity and I’m sure they’ll have a ball.๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ช
He’ll land home tonight acting as if he’s John Mc-feckin-Clane, having saved the state in Die Hard 19, covered in manly scratches and dirt, flopping onto the sofa and expecting a round of applause and a beer.

And praise indeed he shall get… as long as he arrives home with a Prawn Balti from Chilli Shaker.

If he brings naan bread, I might even run him a bath.

If he brings wine, I’ll cheer and shout “Yippeekayeeey Mother Fucker!” at him every 5 minutes until Wednesday.
But now, I’m off to put a collection of teethers and carrots in the fridge. ย Yes carrots. ย Have you ever guven a teethung child a big, chilled, peeled carrot to gnaw on? They LOVE IT! Obviously it needs to be thick so their wee gummies cant bite a bit off, but it’s great. ย Especially when the tooth is almost through.)

Then I’m going to put on my glittery shoes and go shopping.

Shopping list so far:๐Ÿ‘‡

Calpol.

Neurofen.

Teetha granules.

Bonjela.

Gin…

Have a Sassy Saturdays Bitcheepooooos ๐Ÿ˜Ž๐Ÿ˜Ž