I am Smile-and-Nod Mum!

Posted in children, family, parenting, swear words, toddlers, Uncategorized by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

People generally dislike swear words. There’s an unwritten rule that some swear words are worse than others.

The B-words are widely tolerated. The F-word…not so much. The C-word? Don’t even go there! Some words are acceptable. Some are simply not.

It’s like childbirth. It’s okay to say certain things to a new Mamma. And there are some things you SHOULD NEVER SAY…and yet people usually do.

On the other side of things, there are responses that new mammas would love to say out loud (usually with some of the aforementioned expletives carefully inserted!)…and yet they usually don’t.

So here are just a few such things that I’ve heard recently… to which mostly, my response was to politely smile/laugh/nod. But what I was really thinking usually contained expletives. Shock Horror!

“Oh you had a section?” (Usually accompanied by an expression of either sympathy or disapproval.) Yes. I had a section. It’s the most fun thing in the world ever! (*Sarcasm… see previous post “I am Section Mum.”
“How’s your scar healing?” Fabulously thank you. How’s your vagina doing?
“Sure the second section is much easier than the first.” Is it really? My body obviously didn’t get that particular memo.
“You shouldn’t be up and about so quickly.” OK. You’re so right. I’ll tell the toddler look after herself. What am I thinking!?
“Oh? You’re not breastfeeding?” (There’s that look again. Its becoming quite frequent.) No. I’ve made a decision to not give my baby the best start in life. I’m a selfish failure and I deserve your disapproval and judgement. Thanks for that.
“You’re not going back to the gym already surely? Sure there’s nothing wrong with you!” (Yep…there’s that look again!) Yes. I am, because I enjoy training and I want to. It’s as simple as that. Last week I actually replied “God yes. I need to lose at least 4 stone.” That’s an exaggeration, but it was worth it to see the look of disapproval morph into one of utter disgust.
“OMG! I didn’t expect to see you out so soon! You’re some Doll!” (Expression of disapproval added to at sight of very large glass of wine in my hand.) I’m so sorry if my decision to venture away from my baby for a few hours makes you uncomfortable. It actually took a lot of nerve, encouragement from Hubby and support of my friends to get here tonight… but all you see is the wine.
“Where’s the baby tonight?” At home with the Dog of course…where else?
You’re OK leaving the baby with her Daddy? (Yup…cue that expression again!) Erm… is this a trick question? YES!!! He is afterall, her Daddy? He did make half of her and he’s just as entitled to (Shock Horror!) look after her all by himself as I am!
“Is Daddy babysitting?” Noooooooo…. Daddy is looking after his daughters while Mammy does the shopping/has a coffee/pops to town for an hour. He is not hired or paid by the hour. I do not feel the need to leave snacks on the coffee table or to go through her routine before I leave. He’s as (Shock Horror!) able to care for her as I am.

I could go on.

Yes, most of these things were said with the greatest of good intentions, but still. They were said…in some cases by numerous people.

I’m sure I could add more. I’m sure many of you could add your own. It’s a terrible thing to be judged, (intentionally or not), especially by other mummies, but the easiest thing to do is to smile and nod and remember that you can say as many swear words in your head as you like, and no one can judge you for that!

I am Smile-and-Nod Mum.

20Jul2015

I am Sometimes Soccer Mum

Posted in children, parenting, wrong answer by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

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

Soccer Moms…

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

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.

28Apr2015

I am so mortified Mum

Posted in children, parenting by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

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.

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

24Mar2015

I am Sweeties-Mum

Posted in children, parenting, treats by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

“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.

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.

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 🙂

20Mar2015

I am Swearing-Mum

Posted in children, parenting, swear words, tantrums by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

Last night, my Mini-Me said her first proper swear word.

“Jeeeeeesus anyway,” she announced as she sat on the toilet.

Now, I know that children will copy what they hear, and I’m quite able to admit that I am no stranger to the odd expletive, but as a family, we do try not to use bad language in front of the kiddies.

Obviously, at some point, we’ve failed.

Not only did she pronounce “Jesus” quite beautifully; She used it in the same context that a grown up might. She was frustrated (still no poopoo!). She was trying hard and getting nowhere. She was exasperated and she knew exactly how to express it!

She also knew that it wouldn’t be acceptable, because those pretty blue eyes immediately darted to my face to see how I would react. She was challenging Mammy.

We’ve been here before. The first time she ventured into Bad-word-land was with “Shup-up”. My reaction to that was an automatic scold. “No! We do not say Shut-up to Mammy. That is not nice!”

The result? “Shuppy-up” is what she now reverts to if she wants to push Mummy’s patience.

This time, I was armed and ready. I did what any clever parent would do. I did the opposite of last time. I pretended it hadn’t happened and continued talking about Mr. Poopoo needing to go for a swim.

Not getting the reaction she wanted, she said it again…this time, more slowly and dramatic. (A born actress I tell you.)

“Jeeeeeeeeesush.”

This time, I decided to take the bait, but on my terms.

“Yes Honey! You saw Baby Jesus in the crib at Christmas! Aren’t you a clever girl?”

This wasn’t what she’d anticipated in her brilliant toddler mind, but it seemed to work. She began to talk about Christmas and Santa and her pretty dress and her Christmas Tree. And so, I thought I’d won.

I thought that I’d done well. I thought I was clever. I thought I’d distracted her and had taught her how to use the word properly. I’d turned the word back into what it is, rather than allowing it the status of swear-word.

That ‘Supernanny‘ doll should move into my house to see how it’s done. I have it. I’m in charge.

Smug and quite delighted with myself, I carried on with my evening. Husband would be so proud of how I dealt with the situation. I’d be admired by friends with toddlers when I told them how to deal with their little Darling’s attempts to use bad words. I might even win a prize of some sort. I’d start giving lectures to parents on “Expletives and Toddlers: how to survive.”

Then I woke up.

Princess was throwing a strop. She pulled off her Elsa dress and was screaming about her Tinkerbell Dress. Whatever she wanted, I obviously wasn’t doing it. It was one of those tantrums that began over virtually nothing and resulted in fire-alarm pitch screaming and stomping. She stormed into the hall…and suddenly, all of my smugness dissappeared…

“BAAAABY JEEEEESUS ANYWAY!”

So, not only had I NOT dealt with this situation properly, I had given the little genius a way out. A safe pass. A golden ticket. At only three years old, she had manipulated me and my words. What I’d actually done, was teach her how to use it, without getting into trouble.

I was gunked. My jaw actually hit the floor. I listened to hear if she’d say anything else. She didn’t. She was waiting to hear my reaction. She’s still waiting, because although I actually snorted with laughter, she didn’t hear me. A few minutes later, she popped her pretty head around the corner. I carried on as if nothing had happened.

I know some people will be disgusted. I know I shouldn’t have laughed. I know it’s terrible that a child is able to use language like this. But I also know, that sometimes, laughing is all we can do.

I’m not a psychologist. I’m not a child specialist. I’m not a genius.

I’m a mum. I’m a mum who, once upon a time, thought smugly that my little girl would NEVER behave like that. I’m a mum who is learning every single day. I’m a mum who will sometimes just laugh, because really, what other option do I have?

On a positive note, she’s learning. She’s testing boundaries. She’s experimenting with language. She’s establishing her little self in the grand scheme of things. And every day, I “Thank Jesus” that she can!

I am Swearing-Mum x

The S-Mum

…the superbly honest blog of a Thoroughly Modern Mammy

Tag Archives: humour