Tag Archives: helpme

I am So I’m a Career Mum (again)

Posted in blog, children, family, parenting, Uncategorized by

Rejoice! Rejoice!

It is Friyay…the FIRST Friyay after a FULL week of school and work and routine. And we have all survived. (albeit just about, but survived we have.😂)
We may be frazzled and fooked Mammies, but still we must find the energy to REJOICE in the Fact that we have made it to the MOST wonderful evening of the week. 😆

This week, after two years of maternity leave, unpaid leave and jobsharing, I have finally dipped my toe back into the world of being a Full-time Mammy with a full-time Job. What have I learned? Nothing. But I have remembered MANY things; Things that I had battered down, suffocated and locked in a tattered old box at the back of the memory part of my subconscious, but which now bounce back to the forefront of my ridiculously tired little mind. 😐

Tired Children:

Tired children are cranky.
Tired children like to find a reason, ANY reason, to cry.
Tired children do not KNOW that they are tired.
Tired children refuse to admit that they are tired.😥
Tired children will bite one another.😠
Tired children do not like to go to their beds, regardless of how tired they are.
Tired children like to wake up at 2am and play with their toys, with the light on, noisily enough to waken everyone so that they have someone to tell that they are NOT tired.
Tired children do NOT like to get dressed in the morning.
Tired children do NOT like it when you bounce into their bedrooms at 7am singing “Good Morning, Good Moooooooorning!, opening curtains and declaring that it is time for school. (Especially the not tired children who have been up half the night playing with their fecking toys.😈)
Tired children like to say “No” and “No” and sometimes, “Noooooo!” to absolutely EVERYTHING that Tired Mammy asks or suggests.

And along with tired children, comes the Tired Mammy. But as well as being a tired Mammy, Mammy ALSO has to be SUPER-ORGANISED Mammy.
Mammy needs to keep on top of the fridge situation.
Mammy needs to pack lunchboxes and school bags and afterschool bags.
Mammy needs to remember the fecking HORROR that is HOMEWORK.
Mammy needs to think about dinners sooner than when she opens the fridge at 6pm.
Mammy needs to set her alarm to make sure she gets out of bed 30 minutes before everyone else if Mammy wants to pee, shower and have a coffee all by herself.
Mammy needs to be an intelligent and functioning adult.
Mammy needs to rid her brain of references to Peppa Pig and Andy and Bing because they are not relevant to Macbeth and teenagers do NOT respond well to them.
Mammy needs to try to keep the washing basket from puking and Mammy needs to arrange everyone’s clothes before bedtime.
Mammy needs to remain relatively Wifely and interesting enough to hold a brief conversation with Tired Daddy when he comes home from Jim.
And Mammy needs to get used to wearing stupid heels and muckup every single day. (I’ll last until the end of September…)
Mammy needs to cram all of the Mammying and playing and cuddling and scolding and fun into 3 hours in the evening, while being JUST as tired as her beloved Tired Children who are determined to PUNISH her tired ass for abandoning them in school and creche. (Even though they both LOVE where they go and actually CRY when they are collected.)
Mammy can not have grapes or gin during the week… 😛😛
Mammy struggles with balancing the Mammy guilt when she’s away from the girlies, and the urge to sell them on ETSY when she’s spent an hour being screamed at and cried at by her Tired Minions.

Mammy can’t win.

In conclusion. Mammy does INDEED need to rejoice that she has made it to Friday night, has the tired minions in bed, her feet up and the grapes poured. 😂And now Mammy needs all of her Lovely Supermums to say Hello and remind her of what I have been missing while abandoning you all this week while trying to keep 286 plates spinning without falling off her heels and onto her poor, muck-uped, Mammy-guilty face.

Cheers Bitcheepoos. xxx

I am Some reality Mum

Posted in children, parenting, swear words, tantrums, Uncategorized, wine by

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. 😳😳😳
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…”) 😈

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.👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

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

And to stop myself from pouring a HUMONGOUS grape-juice. 🍷😂

On a BRIGHTER NOTE… 🌞🌞🌞

I almost puked in public today. 😂😂

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! 😂

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Over and out…
🛌🛏🛌🛏

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

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I am Six-weeks-and-snuffly Mum

Posted in parenting, Uncategorized by

I’ve just realised that a six week old with a head cold is possibly one of the worst feelings in the world… for both baby and parent.

With Mini-Me into her third round with the nasty viral flu that’s been plaguing Donegal’s homes for the past few months, it was inevitable that Princess would pick up some version of it.  She’s been threatening us with the odd sneeze and little cough for a few days, but this morning, she woke up as a Snufflupogus, with weeping eyes and all.

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And it’s horrible.

My friend has always been unable to tolerate snoots up noses.  She’s the kind of person who will squeeze a blackhead, even if it’s on someone else’s nose!  She picks at her kids constantly; they never have a snoot stuck in a nostril or a piece of sleep in their eyes. She’s even quite happy to pick at other people’s kids.  I kid you not.
And for years, I have teased her about it.

But tonight, I am very tempted to ring her to ask what type of snotter busting device she’d recommend for the detraction of those bad boys hidden deepest in the nostril.  I’d happily drive an hour to the nearest 24 hour store to source the clever contraption than sucks up the snot.  But I seriously doubt that a simple fix exists that can be used on a perfect little six week old snout.

And so we just have to perservere with cuddles and tissues.  Every sneeze brings with it another gloopy lump of gunk and a few minutes of ease for Snufflepants.  She’s currently cuddled up of top of Daddy, making all sorts of grumbly, snottery grunts.  She sounds like Miss Piggy.

And in fairness, I think it’s upsetting him more than it’s bothering her.

Mini Me is also dosed, but at least she can tell us how she’s feeling and understands that she’ll get better.  We can give her medicine to ease the discomfort, and most importantly, when we hold a tissue to her snottery nostrils, she now blows through her nose rather than through her mouth!

So it’s not quite as dramatic as the tiny one’s sniffles.  And really, that ‘s not even that dramatic, because realistically, she has a good old fashioned head-cold.  It’s minor in the larger scheme of things.  She’ll be fine.   But that doesn’t mean that Mammy and Daddy don’t grimace every time she sneezes.  We want to pull all of the offending gunk out of her little sinuses so that she can breathe easily again.  We’d both swap places with her in a heart beat.  Because that’s what parents do.

Things might be snottery and sticky, but they could always be worse.

Now, I must go text my friend to see if she’ll come for tea tomorrow.  You never know what snot busting tricks she’ll be able to show me!!

I am Six-weeks-and-snuffly Mum.

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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

. cake