I am Slightly Excited and Super Nervous Mum

 

I’m off to Dun Laoghaire tomorrow for theย ย Maternity & Infant Awardsย 2017.ย  I’ve made it to the final 10 in the Parenting Blogger category and I couldn’t be happier!

I’m looking forward to it, but truth be told, I’m bricking it. ๐Ÿ™‚

Why?

I have noooooooooooooooo idea.

I suppose a part of it is excitement. Actually, most of it is excitement.ย  I’m going to meet bloggers and writers who I have admired and followed from afar for quite a while. I am quite proud to have even reached the top 10, to have my blog named alongside these writers is such an honour for me already.ย  To meet them and put faces to the virtual characters will be fab.

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Still can’t deal with my name in this list ๐Ÿ™‚

“On a scale of Mum to Marilyn…”

What does oneย  wear to an awards ceremony? The whole “What to wear” issue usually doesn’t bother me too much.ย  I’m one of those people who will decide what I’m going to wear and even though I might change 389 times, I will end up back in the first outfit I’d chosen anyway.ย  But this event has had me slightly stressed this week.ย  Maybe because I don’t know any of the people I’m attending with.ย  Maybe because I had a dream on Tuesday night that everyone else was dressed in chic jeans and blazers and I was dressed like a 1980’s toilet roll cover…ย  ย (Could happen!)

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“On a scale of Mum to Marilyn, how glam are we going?”

There’s NOTHING in my wardrobe you know? Nothing!

So off I toddled to my buddy Rosie in Pure Boutique in Letterkennyย .ย  I was looking for something to fit into the dress code on the invitation, but then I spotted a dress and had an “I need that” moment, so although it is quite possibly way too dressy, I bought it.ย  ย I may be closer to Marilyn than my usual Mum uniform, but it’s not very often we get to dress up during the day is it? And any excuse to be Glammy Mammied must be grabbed with both hands, mustn’t it?

I tried to convince my hairdresser Ciara inย LK Hair Design to do my hair at 5am.ย  Instead, she had a genius plan to make sure my hair looks less Worzelled than usual, so I’ve been summoned into her this evening to have curlers/rollers put in, like the glamourous wans off the tellybox. (I never understand why they have the curlers in but end up with straight hair? But it looks the part, so I’ll pretend I know what’s going on and go with it.)

I’m dragging The Him away from Jim for the day and he is coming with me. I needed a driver… and Himself to myself for a day. When we’re getting the chance to have a day of We-time, we’ll take it. The awards are taking place in theย ย Royal Marine Hotel which looks amazing, so I’m looking forward to some chill out with him.ย  It’ll be an early start on Saturday morning however as I have to hightail it back to Letterkenny to host theย Donegal Youth Serviceย fundraiser, theย Afternoon Tea in Castlegrove House with my Buddy Joanne.

Sunday shall be spent on the sofa, watching The Polar Express and asking The Him if it’s too early for a Chilli Shaker every 15 minutes from 10am.

One of the other glammy Mammies tells me that there is food, fun and wine, so I’m sure than after a wee slug of rescue remedy, a slap of lippy and a glass of grapes, I’ll be grand.

If I win?… well I can’t even go there…ย  We might need to have a party Mammies!?ย  It would be such an achievement.ย  But honestly, to even get to be at that table tomorrow and see my name in the top 10 is a huge personal achievement for me and “The S-Mum” already.ย  I couldn’t be happier and it’s all because of you lot; My Mammy squad, whose comments and messages remind me every day to write and keep smumbling.

It’s going to be a busy one. Tonight will be spent packing bags and cleaning and organizing the whole world.ย  I’ll be posting on my Instagram story tomorrow if you want to see what’s going on throughout the afternoon.ย  Nerves aside,ย I shall pull up the big girl knickers and take a breath and drag my Donegal Backside to the Big Smoke to meet some Fablis bloggers tomorrow… There’s nothing else for it really is there!

Wish me luck! xxxxxx

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I am So not in Galway Mum

Another year, another Ladies’ Day. ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿฆ„๐ŸŽ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿฆ„๐ŸŽ

I’ve just scrolled my news feed to see all of the EVERYBODY dressed up and eyebrowed to the hilt, in glorious colours and HUMONGOUS hats. And then I switched over from RTE Jnr to the lovely Ladybelles on Expose, (who succeed daily in EITHER inspiring me to wash my face and put on proper clothes… or hide in my pit eating icecream, depending on the level of hormental), and watched the interviews with all of the Everybody in their shiny perfection.

Every year, I declare that NEXT YEAR, I too will be Glammy Mammied to the ninety-nines, with eyebrows and concrete muckup and AMAZING high hair, quaffing chambubbles in a tent and smiling gaily at all the other Dollybirds. I would be wearing something chic and spensive and fablis and my neck would be sore from a MAHOOSIVE headhat which keeps stabbing The Him when I move, but I would NEVER admit that it is heavy because he would then be able to say “I told you so” and be all “Such a waste of money”, (even though he’d OBVIOUSLY never have been told how much it ACTUALLY cost!๐Ÿ˜‚)

The Him would be beside me, all dapper of course, and my friends and I would clink glasses, admiring the fashionistas and keeping our smiles expertly fitted while we say things like “WTF is she wearing?” and “How can she walk in those?”, without words of course… just using our secret eyebrow code. ๐Ÿ˜„๐Ÿ˜˜

And then we would have the coveted “FINALIST” sticker stuck on our outfits, and the afternoon would be a whirlwind of camera flashes and sore faces and I’d feel like a feckin Rose (yes, a geriatric rose, but still, it’d be as close as I’ll get.)

And then we’d all pop back to the G Hotel or some such fablis spot, where we’d spend the evening quaffing yet more chambubbles with all the fablis, shiny, eyebrowed Beauties, before rolling into bed, tipsy and still fablis.

Next year… (Coughs) ๐Ÿ˜„

For tonight however, I shall sit in my messy kitchen, listening to Princess refusing to go to sleep, getting over the fact that my Mini-Me told me she “doesn’t wub you no more” because I asked her lift the blocks before bed, wondering what I’ve eaten that has caused my skin to look like pizza and considering that I should perhaps change out of The Him’s PJs before he gets home.

(Lucky boy Him!๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜˜)

Then only thing high about my hair, is my Mum bun, but in honour of all the glamour on my news feed, (which YES, I AM going to continue to stalk for the next hour or so), I have decided to glam it up with a big flower so I don’t feel quite so unglam and DOWDY (and slightly grubby if I’m honest!). Probably should shower the smell of lasagne off me too.

Yeah. I’m quite content here.

Who would want to be in Galway eh?

Not me.

Nope.

Noooooo sirreeeeee.

I much prefer watching everyone else being glam. I am however, going to pop a wee cork here and do some quaffing myself, all in honour of the horsies of course. ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿฆ„๐ŸŽ๐Ÿฆ„

Congrats to the winner in Galway, who seems to be getting a mixed reaction, but who I think looked fab. Amazing headpiece. (But I must say, Lisa’s Lust List was my favourite.)

Who was your favourite? #galwayraces #glammymammy

I am Skirt Mum

โ€‹There are DVDs in the bath. ๐Ÿ˜ฒ

Because that’s the most obvious place to keep the DVDs.

I have no idea why.

  But there they are….

And there they’ll stay until tomorrow when normality and “give-a-shit” return. ๐Ÿ˜‚
Yesterday, my two little fashionistas-in-training and I went shopping.  
I was delighted when Mini-Me replied “Oh yes Mammy!” to “Will you help Mammy pick a new outfit for tonight?”

 I just assumed we’d finally reached that lovely part of Mammy/daughterness where we can go into clothes shops WITHOUT her screaming “NOOOOOOOO!” once she realises it’s not the wonderful toy-filled world of “Smuffs” or that there is ZERO chance of her finding a shelf with sweeties ANYWHERE in the store.
And indeed, she was very well behaved.

She walked around the shop pointing at dresses and tops and announcing things like “Oooooh dis is Bootiful!” and “What about dis one Mammy?”
I wasn’t quite prepared for her ENTHUSIASM to be honest.
I certainly wasn’t prepared for her HONESTY either.
I picked up a slinky silk skirt.

“That’s too small for you”.
I looked at a funky wee top.

“Dat’s not for Mammies.  DAT’S for Childwen like me.”
I lifted a Mini skirt.

“That’s Aunty รine’s.” ( My 17 year old sister…)

 Subtext: you’re way too old for Mini skirts Mamma Bear.
She was standing there in a fricken Elsa dress, telling ME what I should wear. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
And yet, I DID find myself putting the items she disapproved of back on the rails.

Isn’t that ridiculous?

I was letting my baby girl influence my opinion of things that I was OBVIOUSLY attracted to for SOME reason.

I had to remind myself that she’s  FOUR and obviously I needed to set an example that you shouldn’t buy clothes based on what someone else likes. 

No.

My girls will learn to wear whatever the Feck they like. (Note the frequent trips to town dressed as Princess. When else can you do that but when you’re 4?) ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–
I found a less sliplike skirt and a top with a little bit more material around the MumTum.

Then I reached for the Mini skirt and said pointedly “You know what? Mammy likes this so I’m going to buy it.”
Did I teach her positive body image?

Well of course not.  She’d found a shelf of furry keyrings and sparkly phonecovers and was trying to figure out how to steal them, the little criminal. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

So I paid for the outfit, mini skirt and all, and home we went.
I packed both skirts and went off to (the utterly AMAZING) MacNean House, determined that I am STILL a #glammymammy and that thanks to #operationskinnyarse I could INDEED wear a teeny tiny Mini skirt if I want to…
But then when we got there, I only had time for 2 Gins before dinner, so the longer skirt went on and the Mini skirt remained in the suitcase like the shameless HUSSY that it is.
I have as much business in a feckin leather Mini-skirt as the DVD’s do in the bloody BATH!


I’ll return it tomorrow.
Actually, NO.

I won’t.
It will hang in my wardrobe and, I PROMISE, some night soon, there MIGHT just be enough Gin!

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