I am Some More Wedding Vows Mum

My Partner in Poo.

 

“I take thee for richer, for poorer”, we both said.

“For better for worse, in sickness, in health”

and while we meant all of these things on the day,

In hindsight, there’s probably more we should say.

“I’ll love you alone while it’s just me and you,

Deeply and truly, as lovers should do,

But things might change slightly when two becomes three

And yet I’ll still love you, though it might be slightly

different and strained as we sail through the seas

of babies and nappies and purees and puke,

of Peekaboo, naptimes and lego and books.

And then we realise three shall be four

I’ll still try to love you as much as before.

For while there’s less dinners and cinema dates,

Less romance and movies and less use of good plates,

Every so often, I’ll catch a brief glimpse

Of the Man that I married, and I’ll smile as you wink

I’ll love you in darkness, in fevers, in tears

And teething and pain and in each passing year.

I’ll love you in cuddles and memories and fun

In sneaky embraces and slaps on the bum

As we meet in the kitchen in the middle of night.

And when I watch you swinging our girls way up high.

When you’re loving our girls, I love you the most,

When you’re covered in poo, or you’ve not cut their toast

the right way, or you’ve left all the dishes and mess

to build them a fort or put Hulk in a dress.

When I see you exhausted, yet hugging them tight,

When you get up to cuddle or sooth in the night,

When you smile at them both, I can’t help but stare

At the husband that I never thought I could share,

but happily do with our two little girls,

Who weren’t in our mind as we took all those vows,

I know that you love me when I hear them call Daddy

And I’ll share all that love with our Princesses gladly.

So while we still love and while we’re still “us”,

With kids there isn’t so much time for the fuss

or the dates or attention or time that we had,

But that doesn’t mean our love’s old or is bad.

It’s different and shared, but the spark is still there,

It’s just covered in pink stuff and snot in our hair,

And sometimes we’re knackered or covered in poo

But I still love you as much as when I said “I do”.

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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.πŸ˜‚)
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. πŸ˜†

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.πŸ˜₯
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 β€œGood 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 β€œNo” and β€œNo” and sometimes, β€œNoooooo!” 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… πŸ˜›πŸ˜›
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. πŸ˜‚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 So Here’s my Translation Mum

​Have a read at the extract from 1950 Home Economics Book below. πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

Then read my 2017 translation.😈😈😈
Have Dinner Ready.
Plan ahead, even the night before, to have some sort of food in the house for your family, possibly including your husband, not because you have been thinking about him or give a continental shite about his needs, but because YOU need food so he might as well get fed too.  Most men are hungry when they get home, but most men are well able to get their own feckin dinner, and make you some while they’re at it.
Prepare yourself
Take a 15 minutes rest if you can. Or, sneeze so your eyes close briefly.  Just make sure you remove the key from inside the front door so he doesn’t waken you with the doorbell as he lets himself into the house.

Your man should think you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even when you haven’t worn makeup for 5 days, stink like a badger’s arse and have forgotten what a razor looks like.  If he suggests putting a ribbon in your hair or spraying perfume, threaten to bobbit him with said ribbon, spray the perfume in his eyes and use a pointy stiletto to give his day a little lift. Smile gayly while doing so.  It’ll make his day more interesting and less boring.
Clear away the Clutter.
If you can make it from one end of the living room to the other without stepping on lego or tripping on a Paw Patrol weeble,  your house is perfect.  Tidying everything up before he gets home only leads to a false impression that the kids have NOT destroyed EVERYTHING on sight since 7am.  Reality is good.  The messier the house, the more chance there is that He will run you a bath, or pour you a gin, realising what kind of afternoon/day you must have had with his Holy Terrors.  Your Husband will probably not notice either way as he’ll be too busy answering very important emails or catching up on Bookface to give a crap.  If he wants a haven of rest and order, he can just give you a hand to lift everything off the floor.

Equal rights and all that.
Prepare the Children
Do try to wash the children’s hands and faces, if only to avoid spaghetti bolognese stains on your duvets. Do not attempt to comb hair in the evening, unless you are really in the mood for a screaming match.  Do not under any circumstances change their clothes.  Feck that. You’re just creating more washing for your bottomless basket. Actually, remove their clothes before dinner and cover them in bin bags. You might even get another day out of their outfits if you’re really clever.  They are his little treasures, so let him play the part. Piss off to the cinema with your mamma squad and let Him do bath time and bedtime. Let’s see how much clutter has been lifted by the time you get home eh?
Minimise all noise.
Scrap this.  Turn on all appliances before he arrives home, just to emphasise your absolute busy-mummy-ness, because unless he sees it being done, he often won’t realise it’s been done!  Let the children scream and shout at each other, turn up the Tellybox and any other devices and do not attempt to hush them.  Actually, if you are heading out shopping or to a sewing class, give them sugar before you leave. Greet him with a warm smile, be glad to see him and run out that fecking door as fast as your feet can carry you.
Some Don’ts
Don’t greet him with problems or complaints.  Wait until he is having his dinner and the kids are listening and casually remind him of what you’ve asked him 309 times to do already.

Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner. It’s him who’ll have to eat it cold, not you. Why give a hoot? Save complaintsnor ranting for after the kids have gone to bed, so you swear more effectively. Men love a passionate woman who knows her mind.  If his day can trump being covered in poonami, screamed at incessantly by a teething toddler or puked on 3 times, then in fairness, be nice.  And then tell him he needs to change jobs.
Make him comfortable.
Indeed, wait until he’s comfortable before telling him the bin needs to go out. Stomp about screaming “Fine then I’ll  do ot myself!” Until he gets up to do it…  If you catch him lying down in the bedroom while there are still children at large, throw a cold drink over him and tell him it’ll be hot next time. Threaten to arrange the pillow on his face while he is sleeping if he doesn’t get up RIGHT NOW to help with bedtime. Speak in low, soothing, threatening tones. It’s much more effective.  
Listen to him
You may have a list of things to tell him.  Write that list down so that you don’t forget all of the things, and then email, text and stick that list onto his forehead, before still having to repeat the same list tonorrow.  Wait until he has his coat off, or better still, catch him on the toilet. He has no escape from there.
Make the evening his
Fuck off 1950.
The Goal
Try to make your home a place where you can both manage to keep the children alive and teach them not to be completely feral and grumoy little shits, while (the odd time) having some down time together to remember that you actually do like each other.
Oh. And you can see why the man who wrote this was so anally retentive and ridiculous… there is no mention of sex anywhere.  πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

I am Say Hello to Floor Mum

​Let me introduce you to my friend Floor.
“Miss Bedroom Floor” to give her full title.
Mummy misses Miss Floor. 😭

We have a complicated relationship.

We often go for months without seeing each other.

We can spend weeks apart, not talking, not asking how the other is doing, seemingly not caring aboit each other.
When Floor and Mummy fall out, it’s usually over clothes and shoes.

We have the same taste see.🀐

Floor also has a lot to deal with.  

Mummy neglects her. 

I do.

Since the kids came along, Mummy just doesn’t have the same time to spend with her.  You could say she has been abandoned, dropped on, forgotten by Mummy.

I walk all over her really.

There is a layer of cobweb on our relationship, and it’s horrible.😭😭😭
And of course, there are the OTHER Floors… Floor MUST be jealous as Mummy keeps the other floors generally tidy.

 SOMETIMES, (believe or or not), Mummy even MOPS the Other Floors.

I know. 

I’m awful.😲

So I really can’t blame Floor for hiding from Mummy and ignoring me sometimes.
But like any TRUE FRIENDSHIP, when distance grows between us, we both feel sad.

Mummy misses Floor terribly.

When she is sad and isolated and upset, and the distance between us is great, Mummy could cry.  

It’s all such a MESS. I feel like the whole house is falling down around me.  I can’t get over her.  I can’t get past missing her. I feel like my head is going to fucking EXPLODE.
This morning, my broken and disintegrating relationship with my friend Floor, became too much for me to deal with.

At approximately 7.45am, Mummy freaked out on The Him. πŸ‘€
I couldn’t DEAL with the absence of Floor any longer. 
“I can’t deal with this situation any more. It’s driving me insane. I just can’t get the time need to find Floor!” were just a few of the things I ranted and rambled while trying to find the trousers Floor had hidden from me.

STRESS CENTRAL.
I went to work, promising myself that this evening, I WOULD make time for my Friend Floor.  I WOULD fix this mess. I WOULD make her remember that she is loved and valued.
I would.
As I collected Princess from The Him after work, I was still determined to make amends with Floor.

As HIM drove off, he called “Try to get that Floor sorted this evening will you?”
He was waved off with less than 5 fingers and many obscenities, expletives and petnames muttered after him.

He will pay for that.
And then we came home and I opened the bedroom door to find THIS…

πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

NOT ONLY had The Him tidied up the room, he had rearranged the wardrobes to GIVE ME MORE SPACE!

I. Shit. You. Not.
I almost FELL on the floor in shock (and joy!)

I think I fell a little bit in lurve with Him all over again too.πŸ’™πŸ’™πŸ’™πŸ’™
Joking aside, I can’t find the words to express how much this simple, unexpected action meant to me today. It isn’t even the tidying that has floored me…(boom)… it’s the fact that he noticed how much it was stressing me out.

In a house where I sometimes feel like no one even HEARS ME most of the time, just to have something be noticed is amazing.
Tonight? If he bought flowers, diamonds, chocolates… none of that could compete with the utter joy of seeing Floor again.
The Him gets a tough time on here, so I must give credit where it’s due.

He is my Superhero. 

My S-Him.

AND I’m NOT even going to REARRANGE the rearranged wardrobes!
(I’ll do that tomorrow!) πŸ˜‚πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜πŸ˜˜