“Tut tut. Look at those parents using their phones to distract their child. Tut tut.
Lazy young parents of today. Not able to handle their kiddies in public. Whatever happened to conversation at dinner? Tut tut. In my day… yadda yadda fucking yadda.”
Now. Mammy did not HEAR the actual shpeel of verbal diahorrea that was ACTUALLY coming out of the older couple’s tight-set mouths, but the looks and disapproving glances at our table (and the table beside us might I add) when The Him stuck an episode of “Ben & Bolly” on his phone were more than enough to tell us what they were thinking.😡
Now. I am not one who condones screentime at the table, either at home or in public. And actually, our 6 year old does NOT get to look at a screen when we’re eating. Not a hope… but the twoublemaker? Absofeckinglutely. 😂
The couple Saw a snippet of our day. They saw the 9 minutes where Mammy’s lovely dinner had gone cold as she’d spent her time ensuring that Princess did not launch her plate at Mini-Me’s head or SPILL the glasses of milk all over our dinner.
They DIDN’T see the 2 hours of the girls playing at their Doll’s house and in their bedrooms this morning.
They DIDN’T see the 3 hours of fresh air and exercise in Glenveagh.
They DIDN’T see the 45 minutes of colouring in and general chatter as we waited to order and eat.
What they SAW was the “We need to distract the minion for a few minutes to allow Mammy to finish her food and Daddy to order a coffee trick” that most parents turn to as a last fecking resort when their Knackered child has reached their quota of sitting and behaving like a good little girl.
I’m sure they meant no harm. I’m sure they’re lovely. I’m sure they would never have allowed it. Whatever.
Did it bother me? Eh…no! 😂 But I’m pretty sure it might have bothered another Mammy. This Bad Mammy Wagon seriously considered letting her watch another 3 episodes so I could order another glass of grapes. 😂 I didn’t. Cos see, that WOULD MAYBE have been cause for the tutters to tut.
I finished my Yummy dinner. We drank our coffee and we turned off the EBSD. (ElectronicBabysittingdevice)
Then we drove our fed, watered and quite relaxed wee family home.
And we didn’t give a tut what the tutters thunked. They didn’t see the full movie you see. They only saw the blooper reel. So really, their review doesn’t matter, does it?
A glass of grapes on a Sunday night? How very dare I!? Yay!
Happy Bank Holiday Sunday Bitcheepoos.
Any fun for me?
I don’t know about your house, but in my house, the little blue flame means one thing and one thing only.
And not what you imagine it to be.
In most houses, this means that it’s almost time for dinner or for breakfast or for whatever wonderfully nutritious meal that Mammy or Daddy is Nigellaing in the kitchen.
In MY house, it means the beginning of 25 minutes of “TORTURE”.
It’s like the little blue flame ignites the realisation that they are ABSOLUTELY STARVING and must eat EVERYTHING in the house, right NOW MAMMY.
It means the beginning of the fridge being opened every 30 seconds, declarations of “What can I eat?” and “I’m staaaaaarving Mammy!”
It means the cries of the wobbler as if she hasn’t been fed for 3 weeks. The painful hollers of the pair of them as they scream hunger and neglect and cry continuously until I finally put whatever I am cooking in front of them… for them to obviously declare that they “Don’t wike it!” or that they’re “not hungwy!”
No shit sherlock. You’ve just spent 25 minutes eating fecking biscuits and croissants and yoghurts and EVERYHING in the fecking fridge while I cooked.
I’m not sure which is the biggest waste; the gas or the energy I use cooking for them.
Ooooooh it’s Friyay.
Today Mammy took a notion.
Mammy is going to surprise the girlies by bringing them to meet Daddy for a surprise dinner date and we’ll have a lovely family evening with our two well behaved darlings, who Shall eat their Yummy dindins. Then we shall have the joy of watching them eating Pink icecream, the adorable little munchkins, before going home for a relaxing bedtime where Daddy would put them to bed while Mammy pours a glass of grapes and puts her Tired feet up for a good old Corrie wedding…
Mammy is a deluded Twatsickle who often falls victim to her very own Disney Princess notions. 😂
But never fear.
Mammy has her very own Mini whose main purpose in life (today anyway) seems to be to knock Silly Mammy off her Disnified perch.
We did meet Daddy.
From the second we sat down, Mini-me was a wagon. A proper little shitsickle. She made Princess look like an angel. That IS Quite the achievement! I won’t go into too much detail but when I tell you that ignoring the waitress, refusing to order, asking for a cocktail, bursting into tears because Mammy ordered for her, sliding onto the floor, scribbling on the menu were only a FEW of her party tricks, you can imagine the rest.
Mammy and Daddy spent the date sending each other apologetic “what we’re we thinking” looks and starting conversations they both knew would not be finished before they started.
Mammy wished she could go back to correcting exams and considered that she should have just gone home to cook the freezer contents. Daddy wondered why he had ever thought that leaving work early was a good idea… I’m guessing that only for fear of Divorce, he would have happily gone back to his BFF Jim.
They did go home: After NO dessert. They did get the girls to bed: After NO story and plenty of the special strops reserved only for the first Friday night after school holidays…
Mammy did pour grapes.
And just like Mammy’s fairytale picture of her evening DIDN’T happen, neither did the Corrie Wedding.
But See there’s where Mammy is going wrong… sometimes life is Corrie, not Disney.
At least with Corrie, you expect disaster!
Here’s to all you Mammies who got a reality check from your little Notionwreckers today.
And here’s to Poor Sinead… she’s better off. It’s only have ended in no icecream and wine.
How was your Friday?
Hurray and Woohoo!
Thursday is Takeaway Day.
It’s time for our local Ocras to get their weekly phonecall from me as I lift the girls from creche.
“TenminutesMaria!” (He doesn’t even have to ask who it is. That’s service for ya!)
And I look forward to it soooooooooooooo much. Not because I am going to eat it. No. This Mammy is back on the wagon and as much as I love Joe’s pizzas, I am being good (during the week anyway!)
No. I look forward to it for a few reasons.
Mainly because I am still traumatized by the sausages incident of last night.
Secondly, because I don’t get home until almost 6pm if I go to see Jim and my minions will be “Staaaaaaaaarvin Mammy” if they have to wait for me to cook.
Thirdly, because after the generally organised and productive start of the week, I’m running out of gas/petrol/thewilltolive and quite simply can’t be arsed cooking. (reminder to Him, we still need ACTUAL gas too!)
And most importantly, it means happy kids, no dishes and a headstart on my Thursday night Happy Mammy Blitz.
My Thursday Mammy Blitz is class.
No matter how knackered I am, I make Thursday night all about cleaning.
I get the girls to bed, do the washing, clean the sespits that are the bathrooms, mop all the floors and generally leave the place as clean as possible so that when we get home on Friday evening, it is actual down time. I’ve mentioned it before. I’ve done it for years. For me, the best thing about Friday evening is coming home and not having to start cleaning and doing housework. It’s a mess again by Saturday, but hey! Whatever works eh?
And the ABSOLUTE best thing about my Mammy Blitz, is that my reward for being such a superorganised-notsausageburning-shitMum, is that I get a glass of wine in front of the tellybox before bed.
And now that I have Derry Girls to look forward to on Channel 4 at 10pm, it’s going to be even better.
Ain’t nothing dousing this good mood today.
Have a good one!