I am Speed-Clean Queen Mum

Good evening, on this, the 83rd of January, 2018.
 
It is Sunday night once again. Mammy has a list of things she needs to do, but after running around the house for the past 90 minutes finding schoolbags, and lunchboxes and searching for the magical tie and parts of the uniform that get blown to the 4 corners of the earth on a Friday evening, Mammy is fit for NOTHING except parking her posterier on the sofa.
 
Mammy had some lovely friends over for an impromptu dinner last night. Mammy spent 45 minutes speed cleaning the rooms in which her lovely friends would be. It is amazing just how much Mammy can get done when faced with the thought of lovely friends coming to visit. (Not that lovely friends give a continental shite what state Mammy’s Layer of Love is in, but still.) And so Mammy managed to blitz the kitchen, tidy, move, clean bathrooms, mop floors and clean glass, all so that she could apologize for the “state of the place” when the lovely friends arrived.
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How ridonculous eh?
 
“Good evening Lovely Friends, please doooooo come in and look at how homely and coziful Mammy’s practically perfect in every way home is on this fine evening. I must apologize for the layer of love. Please do not judge Mammy for the mess of her candlelt kitchen… Woulds’t one likest some cucumber in one’s gin?
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Ready for catch ups

 
And of course the response from one of the lovely friends was “Yeah yeah. The place looks great. Shut up and start pouring.”
 
The evening was lovely until Princess decided to have her firt EVER nightmare just before 1am. The poor little cretur screamed so loudly that one of Lovely Friends almost spilled her cucumbery gin over herself. And so Mammy had to bid her lovely friends Adieu and take the High-temperatured, sweaty little shaking mess away from the “Bug Bear under me bed” and into our bed.
On the up side, The Him was happily left entertaining lovely friends AND HE did all the cleaning up of Mammy’s showhouse worthy kitchen before he went to bed. And so the remnants of the Heavenly Indian takeaway we had, were gone when I got up.
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Could lick the screen…

 
Fear not however my Mammies. The house is once again a mess and all pretentious notions have left Mammy. Mammy is back in reality, smiling at how quickly Mini-Me and Princess recreated their Layer of Love and glad to have such Lovely friends to speed-clean-for-them-to-not-notice anyway.
I am now ready for bed, hoping and praying that there is no bear or monster under Princess’s bed tonight.
Hope you had a lovely weekend and that you are ready for the last 38 days of January.
The S-Mum

I am So Takeawaying Thursday Mum

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.

“AsmallkidspizzamealandaportionofplainsausagesplleasheandthankyouJoe”. 

“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.

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Ain’t nothing dousing this good mood today.

Now!

Have a good one!

I am So I’m a Career Mum (again)

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 Shopping & Obituaries Mum

(Read in the voice of Mr Donal K – him off the radio box.)

The death has taken place of Mr Hot Point and Mrs Dy Son at their home on S-Mumble Hill.

Mr Point died yesterday evening after a long illness. It was thought after 3 months of symptoms and complaining, that he was suffering from Man-flu and that he was indeed immortal. Turns out, not so much.

His wife, Mrs Dyson was so shocked by her husband’s passing that she died suddenly, only a few minutes later, in the arms of her loving housemaid, Mrs RU Fecking-Joking.

The Coroner, a very nice man called Mr Dom Appliances, sadly declared both dead early this morning, despite attempts to resuscitate Mrs Dy Son. They are survived by their aging son, Mr Dumble Drier, who won’t be long behind them by the looks of things.

Removal this evening, courtesy of Irwin’s Removal Lorry for deceased appliances.

No flowers please. Donations in lieu to the Support fund for Pissed off and Broke husbands, ℅ The Him. They say that things break in threes.

After the battering The Him’s bank account took this afternoon, I’d say THAT counts as number 3… And his wee broken heart is number 4, so we’re done!

On the bright side, I’m finally getting one of the fanciful hoovery yoks that stick on the wall. The Him shall have clean clothes and a spotless house, EVERY DAY from now on… well, until the novelty wears off.

RIP my Friends.

I am Shiny Window Mum

Today, I cleaned the glass on the doors in my kitchen.

I have been looking at the fingerprints and handprints and food smudges and what-the-feck-else-I-do-not-know-smudges since the LAST time I washed them. 😣😣

“The last time I washed them” is a bit vague. It varies depending on who I am talking to: If I know you well, I won’t even excuse them, because you won’t even notice them, but you know yourself, there will always be those people who arrive or pop in or visit, to whom you feel compelled to lie about your cleaning.

“Would you BELIEVE I only washed those windows LAST weekend? Can’t keep them clean with these two rascals… hardeehardeehar”, you quaffle with extra hugh pitch in your voice, while you ignore the Him’s raised eyebrows because he knows that they POSSIBLY haven’t been WIPED in 3 months, never mind cleaned! 😂😂

It’s like confessions…”Bless me Mrs for I have sinned. It’s been 3 months since my last confession.” (Cue fires in hell sizzling in excitement that you’ve just LIED to the Priest, IN CONFESSION. 😂)

So yes, today.

I DID clean the fecking glass AND THEN, I left my two minions eating their frozen frubes in front of Upsy Crazy and Macka Facka and scooted to my bedroom to leave a basket of clothes on the floor (where they shall rest and mature for up to 3 weeks…it’s the only way you know?) 😄😄

Approximately 36 seconds later, I returned to this little shitster👇👇, caught white handed clattering the fecking glass with the end of her Frube… I’m going to go ahead and think positively that she OBVIOUSLY saw me cleaning them earlier and so was imitating her Mary-of-the-poppins-esque Mammy Bear.

This theory has been further verified by the fact that she had ALREADY “cleaned” the Tellybox too… So here we are now, with the glass having not been cleaned in months, and now suddenly cleaned 3 times in one fecking day!

Wee monster this doll… 😇😇

How was your day? 😂😂

I am Switching-around-the-furniture Mum

Today was a very productive day.
We spent the afternoon moving furniture around and rearranging rooms! 😆

I can’t tell you the joy this gives me. It makes me happy when The Him is home and actually gets to USE those muscles 💪💪he works so hard on at the Jim. (Yes, I refer to our gym as a person.👤 He is after all a member of the fricken family.)

The Him with the muscles however is not so keen on my biannual moving of the furniture. 😐
He doesn’t GET that it makes S-Mumming much easier when there’s a certain amount of organisation and order in our very messy home.

He agreed to move the furniture today on condition that I don’t rearrange the kitchen (again.)
All this did was put that idea into my head and onto my to-do list for tomorrow. 😈
I’ll take pleasure reminding him it was his idea when he’s swearing tomorrow night because he can’t find the black pepper.😂

Anyway, the BEST thing about the rearranging of the furniture was the moving of a double bed into Mini-Me’s bedroom.
S-Mum is being very clever and pre-empting such future events as sleepovers and “I need Mummy” nights of fever or whatever.  Instead of my arse hanging out the side of her tiny bed, I shall simply lie beside her. Clever mammy. 😗

But he BESTEST THING about the double bed is how ABSOLUTELY TINY my lanky, skinny 4 year old looks tonight as she sleeps in the huge bed.  She’s so small and tootsy and it’s a lovely feeling to see her so teeny, rather than looking at how big she’s getting and wishing time would stop.
Silly maybe.
But it makes me happy. 😇
And after the mayhem of rearranging the rooms, The Him took us out for dinner. (I think it was to stop me from moving the coffee machine into the bedroom really.)
Mini-Me ate everything in front of her.
So did I. 🍰
Princess smiled at everyone and battered our Bloke.  (He loved this really.)

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And then we had ice-cream.
So all is now right with the world.
I’m off to pour a glass of grapes.
I do need my 5 a day you know. Must keep the strength up for tomorrow’s kitchen rearranging!
Goodnight S-Folks xx

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