Tag Archives: fun

I am Sometimes Soccer Mum

Posted in children, parenting, wrong answer by

We’ve all seen them on the tellybox haven’t we?

Soccer Moms…

pushy parent

The pushy parents who live their entire lives through their kiddies and whose routines revolve around taxi duty for their little darlings.

The parents who will stand up for their sproggies, regardless of whether or not Junior is in the wrong.  The parents who can’t see even the slightest possibility that their little darling might not just be absolutely fantastic at absolutely everything!

The mummies who drop their kiddies off at school or creche in their gym gear, all swinging ponytails and smiles, who subtly boast about their gifted child or their over-achieving genius: who ring the school to complain that their little angel isn’t playing the star in the school play when she was Mary in the Nativity three years in a row…

and we all smile smugly in the knowledge that we would NEVER be like them.

Even the thought is ridiculous!

It’s utterly absurd!… and yet, we’re all more than capable of it!

How do I know?  Because just last week, I found myself turning into one of these soccer moms, minus the swinging ponytail.  And I’m not ashamed to say it!

I took Mini-Me to the Public Health Nurse for her developmental check.  It was all pretty standard and uneventful really.  I’m happy enough that she’s developing at an exceptional rate anyway and didn’t feel that I needed anyone to verify it.  :p

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We sat in the office; me on a chair in the corner, Mini-Me on a cute little seat at a tootsie little table, with colourful blocks and crayons. Nurse’s voice was cooing and soothing and she quickly established a rapport with Mini-me.  She also quickly established that she was interested only in speaking to my daughter. Mummy’s voice was not required.

I quickly picked up that I was there as an observer only; to watch this stranger play with my little princess, while assessing her every move.

Fine, I thought, a little huffily if I’m honest.  I had nothing to worry about.  Mini-Me would show her how a three and a quarter year old rolls.

What I hadn’t banked on was that she’d be hit with a savage dose of shyness.  Nurse’s baby-focused cooing suddenly seemed to be her cue to act like a wee baby!

We started off OK.

“Put the blocks in a line”…easy.

“What colour is this one?”

“Pick out the yellow ones”…duh!

We were flying.  I was envisaging a gold star for both of us as we left.

“Now, can you draw a circle?”… yup!

“Can you draw two smaller circles?”… Uh oh.

I could tell that Nurse wanted her to draw a face, but the instructions caused confusion and she drew the two smaller circles outside of the large one.  Catastrophe!

“Ok, draw a smiling mouth”… Mini-Me looked at her as if wondering why the heck she’d give a circle a mouth.  At this point I politely interjected… “Just ask her to draw a face.” I suggested.  Nursey poos wasn’t too happy, but rephrased.  To my delight, Daughter turned the page over and promptly drew a face, with all required features, including eyelashes!

Hah!  Take that Nursey Poos!

At this point, I sat back on the chair, exhilarated and smug.  My heart was racing, just a little.

Then…

“Can you count the blocks?”

Well of course she can…

But then, she didn’t.

Instead, my beautiful, intelligent little darling announced “1,2,5,8,TWENTY!”

And this Momma-bird nearly fell off her perch.

I was about to interrupt again…until I realised that while Mini-me was playing the the I’m an ickle baby game with Nurse, I was turning into one of those mothers.

It was like an out-of-body experience.  My throat constricted as I tried not to scream “She can count to 20! In English AND in Irish!”.  I squirmed in my chair, trying not to get up and rearrange the blocks for her to try again. I noted my racing heart and sweaty palms as I tried to control the urge to ‘turn teacher’ and get her to do it right.

This was terrible!  How could I let this woman, who was assessing my child, think that she was seeing anything other than a genius?  She should be awestruck as she realises she is in the presence of greatness.  One day, she should say, “Oh yes! I remember her.  She was always so gifted.”

While I kept myself in check, I became suddenly aware that Mini-Me was counting again, slower this time and properly.. Ok, she left out 15 as usual, but sure who needs 15?  And Nurse was smiling, filling out her notes and finishing up the session.

I felt my heart rate return to normal-mental-mother pace, and when she asked if I had any concerns, I smiled sweetly and said “No, I think she’s fine. Do you see anything to be worried about?”

She continued to tell me that she was perfectly happy that Mini-me is just fine.  She seems like a very bright and intelligent child, and her counting is very good!

I was chuffed.  It was a metaphoric gold star for Mammy and for Mini-me.  Soccer Mom however, swished her ponytail and screamed “I could have told you that at the beginning and saved us half an hour!!”, but the normal Mammy smiled politely and thanked the lovely Nurse very much.

Because really, she was lovely and she did her job exceptionally well.  And I’m suddenly very aware that I might be determined to never turn in to one of those mothers, but there might be the possibility that there’s one inside me with whom I’ll have to wrestle every so often!

But hey!  Isn’t that just part of the job?

I am Sometimes Soccer Mum.adoring mom

I am so mortified Mum

Posted in children, parenting by

This weekend, I met my threenager.  A work colleague kindly gave me this word on Monday when I mentioned by utter exasperation at Mini-Me’s constant whining and tantrums. It’s perfect.  Attitude, huffing, stomping, screaming and absolute defiance; and all quite out of character.  Thankfully, it seems to have passed and so I’ll happily attribute her shenanigans to her Daddy being away on business for the weekend as opposed to the beginning of a long-term hatred of Mammy.

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Thankfully however, even in the midst of her strops and screeches, she still managed to surprise me.  We were in a local supermarket on Sunday.  I’d like to paint a picture of calm and relaxation; you know where I hum happily as I push her around in the trolley and she sweetly impresses other shoppers by asking for oranges and singing at the top of her voice.  But no.

True to the form of the weekend, Madam refused to get into the trolley, insisting that she push the bloody thing even though she can hardly reach the handle.  By the time we got to the fruit aisle, (aisle 2), she had thrown two full blown tantrums; one over the pushing of the trolley, and one because she “neeeeeeeed buns!”

So when we moved into the next aisle and she seemed happier, (probably because she was holding said buns as if they were the last buns in the shop), I breathed a sigh of relief and carried on.  And then it happened.

A young man was stacking shelves.  He was bent forward over the onions, minding his own business, doing his job.  I had started humming, happy that all was calm again.  And then my adorable, innocent, (mostly) pleasant daughter lifted her little hand and slapped him square on the arse, shouting “Woooohoooooo!!” as she did so…

I…was…mort…i..fied!

Tell me.  What the hell does one do when their toddler assaults a stranger while they work?  The victim jumped up, dropped his onions and looked around to see a wee toot grinning up at him, proud as punch of her self! He looked at me with shock on his face.

And then he laughed.  Thank the Lord Jesus and the baby donkey, he laughed.

Mammy on the other hand, turned 50 shades of scarlet and made a futile attempt at scolding Mini-Me while apologizing profusely.  “It’s fine!” he said. “I have a wee rascal at home myself.” And with that statement, all was right with the world.

I apologized again, grabbed the bun-free hand and dragged her off.  She was absolutely oblivious to my mortification and sang her way around the rest of the shop.

By the time I got the frozen food, I had resumed my normal pallor.  And then I started to laugh.  It wasn’t just the slap.  It was the “Wooohooo”.  I don’t even know where or how or why she thought to do it.  I explained to her that we don’t slap people and all I can do is hope that it doesn’t happen again.

“I like buns” she replied to me.

Seriously…

I am So mortified Mum

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I am Soap-Mum

Posted in children, parenting by

“It’s not bedtime.  It’s still early!”  Curse these long evenings!

Mini-Me has been growing increasingly difficult to get to bed at the usual time.  I find myself, for the first time, cursing the changing of the clocks.

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The last few nights were beautiful.   The sun was setting behind mountains.  The sky was 50 shades of pink. And the daughter was still singing “Let It Go!” at 9.30pm.  I tried in vain to explain to her that although it’s still bright outside, it is indeed bedtime.

She was having none of it, until last night.

The debate was becoming quite heated.  Her logic was, (obviously!) that it’s not night time yet.  How the hell does one argue with that? I was beginning to have visions of her sitting up until all hours, when suddenly the theme music for the 8pm episode of Emmerdale came on the TV.

Madam stopped stomping her foot, looked at the telly and announced “It’s bedtime Mammy.  I need Shreddies.”

And so I find that I have finally morphed into my mother.

As kids, the music to Coronation Street was our cue to no longer grace the kitchen.It seems silly, and we often joke about it now as adults, that it frightened the lives out of us! How ridiculous that was.  How ridiculous.

bedtime

Except it’s not that ridiculous.  I finally understand.  I never realized that it marked the one time of the day where Mother Dearest could make a cup of tea (which she’d actually finish), collapse on the sofa, and grab a fleeting moment of quiet and escapism after the chaos of the day. (Before getting back up to prepare uniforms and lunches and do washing etc afterwards!)

And so, if this music is going to mark bedtime for my “genius but not quite aware of time yet” daughter, then by golly, I am going to jump on that train!emmerdale

And whether it takes me to the Dales, or to the Cobbles is irrelevant, as long as it acts as a bedtime marker, I’m as happy as a character in a Soap Opera!

I am Soap Mum.

I am Sweeties-Mum

Posted in children, parenting, treats by

tonguesweeties

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Sveeeeeeeties!” she screams, sounding suspiciously like the Grand High Witch in Roald Dahl’s Witches.

“You can’t have sweeties for breakfast Silly Billy.  Would you like toast or Shreddies?”

“COCOPOPS!!”

“What about French Toast? You can crack the eggs for Mammy.”

“COOOCOOOOOPAAAAWPS!!!”

“Do you want to crack the eggs?”

“Meeee cwack the eggses!  I wub Fwench Toooast” – and just like that, I win. No row, just distraction. I’ve kicked the sugar craving in the arse.

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But where, oh where does it come from? At what point did I teach my little girl that sweeties and chocolate covered cereals are the ultimate prize? How is it that she knows what to say to wind Mammy up in the morning?

We’re a pretty healthy family.  We try not to eat overly processed foods.  We eat a varied and balanced diet of good food and tasty treats. Mini-me has been eating the healthier versions of cereal since starting on solids, and her favourite breakfast is in fact Shreddies.

She gets sweeties and ‘choc-choc’ as a treat.  We do reward good behaviour with a sugary treat…gasp!  But to her, a raw carrot or cheese and grapes is also a treat.

We thought we were doing it right. We thought that we were teaching her to love healthy food and to see Sweeties as occasional treats.  When I offer her diluted juice, she prefers water or milk.  She won’t drink fizzy drinks; her choice.  She loves fruit and breadsticks etc.  We’re doing ok.

So how is it, that when she feels mischievous, she knows to ask for chocolate covered cereal which she knows we don’t buy?

Well, probably because she had them once while on a sleepover, and loved them,  What child wouldn’t? It’s chocolate in a bowl…for breakfast!?

She also had great pleasure in throwing poor Granny under the proverbial bus one day “Granny gave me cocopops” she announced as we pulled into Granny’s driveway.

“Did she now? And did you like them?”

“I wub Cocopops”

Of course she does!

Listen, I get that people are happy to let their kids eat chocolaty breakfast cereals.  I have no problem with that.  It’s none of my business what other parents feed their little darlings.

We just choose not to give them to ours. That’s our prerogative as her parents.  We know we can’t control what she eats all the time, especially when she’s with other people, but we can influence what she perceives as good food or as a treat as she grows up.

People don’t agree with us. Sure there’s no harm in them.  My kids ate them and they didn’t do them any harm etc... Yes. Ok.

But we just don’t want to give them to her as an option.

Breakfast is one of the few chances we get to ensure that our little darlings leave the house ready for their day.  If we want to make sure that they are fueled with goodness, rather than with sugar, that’s OK too.

I can smell the sweetie irony though.  By offering sweeties as a reward for good behaviour, we’ve actually taught her that the sweeties are something precious and special.

So it’s absolutely my own fault now that she expects them as a reward for good behaviour.  It’s absolutely my own fault that she sees sugary treats as the holy grail and would chose the chocolate bar over the plain biscuit.

Of course it is.  But sure I would too.

As an adult, I have my own relationship with food.  I love it.  Eating is one of my favourite things to do. I love a bit of chocolate.  I love the odd sweetie. I eat well and I’m active, so these devilish treats are fine.  As is everything in moderation.

And that’s the key.  Moderation.

sweeties

She likes sweeties.  She likes chocolate.  So what? Who doesn’t.

She likes her good behaviour to be verified with a treat, so, I’m making an effort to replace these “rewards” with non-sweets from time to time.  Her craft box full of feathers and glue is now offered as a reward for being a good girl. Or I let her watch Minions (again!).

And sometimes, I’ll just reward/bribe her chocolate. Sometimes I’ll offer her sweeties. Sometimes, I’ll share the sweeties with her, (but never with Daddy!), just because I can.

And yes, sometimes I’ll give her sweeties when she asks for them…but not for bloody breakfast!

I am Sweetie-Mum 🙂

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I am Silly Mum

Posted in children, parenting by

imagine“Silly Mammy!” I hear this daily. Sometimes it’s true.

I have found that since Mini-me suddenly turned from baby to toddler, that my inhibitions have pretty much diminished.  I went from thinking I didn’t care what people thought of me, to actually not giving a toss what people think of me.  It’s changed my life for the better and I owe it all to her.

I’ve always been a performer.  I’ve dressed up. I’ve worn ridiculous costumes.  I’ve danced ridiculous dances.  I’ve even stripped to my undies…but always in the safety of the stage.  My local theatre stage has allowed me to be dozens of different characters; the Liesl, the lady, the bitch, the hooker – and more times than enough, the blonde bimbo.

But no stage equates to the characters a Mummy can assume when raising a toddler!

At present, Mini-Me often assigns my character to me.  “Look Elsa!”  or “No Anna. I have to find Sven“.  Games that require the adoption of instant imaginary persona, are even coming more naturally to my Husband, who more often than not has to break into sporadic song, (whether he likes it or not!).

I’ve been every Disney Princess imaginable.  I’ve been an elephant.  I’ve been a spaceship.  I’ve been a mouse and I’ve been a scary monster. Whatever she wants me to be really.

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Today, I am Tinkerbell (apparently) as I am donning a green bobbed wig and am dressed from head to toe in green for our St. Patrick’s Day celebration at school.  I look ridiculous.  A part of me feels ridiculous.  I wouldn’t have dreamed of dropping her to childcare and driving to school like this a few years ago. I nearly didn’t this morning!

“I can’t do this…can I?” was my first though when I looked in the mirror. Then, she bounced around the corner and her wee face said it all.  She grinned and announced “Oh Mummy! Your gween hair is boooootiful! SilleeeeMammeeeee!”…and so, feck it, it stayed on.

Yes, people are laughing at me.  I made quite a few students giggle and snort as I flounced to my classroom. I’ve had colleagues shake their heads, baffled…but people are smiling.  I decided to teach my first years Ceilí dancing instead of Poetry. They loved it. So did I. They think I’m silly (or crazy as one of them happily told me!).  So do I!

But I’m having fun and if nothing else, I might just be teaching some of them that standing out and being different is harmless. If they think it’s silly, good! If they think it’s fun, even better! If they don’t like the wig, they can ignore it. Some people will always be uncomfortable with fun.  There’s not really much we can do about that is there?

Mini-me has taught me how to play again. She’s teaching me that it’s OK to be silly.  It’s much more fun than being serious all the time.  I adore how she’s happy to wear her Elsa dress into town.  I admire how she smiles happily when people tell her she’s beautiful.  I love how she spins around when someone tells her that they love her dress.  My response to that is “Penneys best!”, automatically dismissing the compliment.

We don’t take compliments very well.  We don’t usually put ourselves in the spotlight… well, off the stage anyhow.  We dress as fashion allows, so as not to stand out too much.  We’ve forgotten how to be silly.

But we should be silly.  We should wear what we want.  We should sing at the top of our voices, even if it’s awful.  We should wear green wigs if the occasion presents itself. We should teach our kids to be who they want to be, how they want to be, and not to worry too much what people think of them.

She’s teaching me to be silly.  I’ll happily oblige!  It’s liberating.  It’s free and it’s fun!

And while, I’ll be teaching Shakespeare in about 20 minutes time and being very serious, I’ll also be wearing a green wig.  What my LC class make of that, is completely up to them.

Because today, I am indeed Silly-Mum! x

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