Tag Archives: kids

I am Slight Change of Plans Mum

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Mammy is rather chuffed to see Friday evening.

Mammy doos LOVE Friday evenings.

I tried to be a very good Mammy this evening, ignoring Jim in favour of lifting my girls early, with plans to do some festively frolicky arts and crafts with a lovely Christmas-Card-making-set that I procured in the Aldi-everything last week, to drink hot chocolate and have a Hallmark worthy Mary-of-the-poppins type evening, where they’d play happily while Mammy magically transformed the vegetables in the fridge into wholesome homemade soup for my minions.

How mammiful of me, eh?

In reality, I had an extra hour of them screaming “NO WAY”, “She HUT meeeee!” and “STOP iiiiiit!” at each other and at me, while I delivered a Freezer Friday Special of oven baked cardboard for them to smear all over the floors. Then we watched 65 Cartoons, Princess fell asleep standing up 👇👇👇and we had a generally riotous bedtime chaos…

I didn’t shout as much as usual however and both have gone to bed reasonably content 💞and (finally) temperature free… (Is it bad that I now get more upset if we run out of Cal-of-the-pol, than I do if the graperack runs out? 😂😂)

The arts and crafts stuff remains in the car. It’ll probably still be there on January 1st as I’ll have given in to the cheap, cheerful and mess-free joy that is 30 cards for a penny in the pound shops! 😆😣😅

I HAD indulged in my usual Thursday night Domestic Goddess cleaning splurge last night, in the hope of doing feck all tonight. Right now, it looks like a creche puked its contents onto my living room floor.

There is however a shiny new grape glass from TK-Maxyourcard sitting beside the bottle of grapejuice that needs a snog…

How was your Friday Ladybelle?
Hit me with a gif to sum it up! 😚😚😚

I am Ssssssh Mum

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So I’ve been suffering a bit from the oul writer’s block.

Well, actually, I’ve not REALLY. I’ve just been busy this past week or two.

It’s been less “Writer’s block” and more “Mammy’s focked!” 😂😂

There comes a time every so often when this Mammy’s constant attempts to be a bouncing, caffeinated and enthusiasitc Duracell Bunny who has eleventy squillion plates spinning on one hand, while trying to squeeze 43 hours into a 24hour day, with a full time job AS WELL as being a fulltime Mammy, brings the blog to a little lull… and so by the time Mammy gets the girls and their random respective temperatures and snotters to bed each night this past week, Mammy has been fit for nothing else but planting her tired arse on the sofa. 😂
Even the thought of looking at a screen for more than a few minutes hurt my brain.
So I didn’t.

When I get busyful like this, I tend to cool off the interweb for a bit. Yes, I still browse briefly, but I don’t post as much. (I delete the apps off my phone for a few days so I have to really BOTHER to look at them on other devices. It works. Try it!)

I try to stock up on ideas and fun to write about when I get myself back into the swing of it, (and trust me, these two are firing it at me!), but generally, I recharge the blog batteries by putting it on the backburner for a bit.
I’m still here. I’m just not putting pressure on myself to write and I’m not looking at the screen as much.

Social Media is great, but it does no harm every so often to remember that it’s not real and that ACTUALLY, you CAN survive for a few days without it. Life goes on, and it can suddenly become much more focused on the technicolourful wonder that it is, when we’re not being distracted by the little screen quite so much.

Mammy is looking forward to getting some blogs and posts put together this weekend, and normal smumbles will resume soon…just as soon as I recharge my OWN batteries! 😚😂

And just so you don’t think I’ve lost my mojo completely, here’s an update of the death of Michael Jackson… Mini-Me had to draw a picture at school of someone who she knew who had died … guess who she drew!?

Chat soon Ladybelles.
Happy nearly Friday Day!

I am Some Last Firsts Mum

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My Baby

Tonight Mammy is hormental.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that even though I keep referring to Princess as The Baby, she is in fact, not a baby any more.

Tonight, I put my last one year old to bed for the last time.

In the morning, she shall be two.

Two.  

A real number.  

No longer counted in months… no more 18 months.  No more “one and a bit”.

Nope.  From tomorrow, she is TWO.

And someone needs to pinch me and explain how the HELL that happened?

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In my head, she’s a Baby.  

But more and more as I look at her, I’m getting reminded that she is in fact a little girl. She’s a toddler.  She’s a kid.  

Not a baby any more.

And while her dress for her 2nd birthday party is for aged 3, it doesn’t matter how big she gets, or how tall she gets, or how old she gets.  She WILL always be MY Baby.  

Maybe I’m emotional because I reckon she’s my last first; my Last first birthday. Last first shoes.  Last first tummy bug.  Last first tooth.  She’ll be our last first day at school.  Last first everything.

Does this make me sad?  NOPE.  But it does make me pay just a little more attention to these little lasts.  I find myself memorising things. Watching a little more closely.  Hugging a little tighter.

And while tonight should not be sad, because of course every year marks a celebration of life and of health… for some reason, I have a wee lump in my throat.  I was teary putting her into her cot.  I found myself watching her and savouring her more today.  Maybe because of that last first.  

How did she get so big?  Where have those 2 years gone?  If I close my eyes, I can still smell her as a new baby snuggled into me.  I can still see her face as it was the second I met her.  In my head, she hasn’t changed a bit.  In reality, she’s thriving. And I thank my lucky stars.

Tonight, as I tuck them in, I have a five-and-a-half-and-three-quarter year old who will be 17 on her next birthday… and a Baby.

From tomorrow, I’ll have a five-and-a-half-and-three-quarter year old who will be 17 on her next birthday… and a TWOublemaker.

Let the fun begin.
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I am Saving the Day Mum

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Mini-Me began to BAWL on the way home this evening.

“What’s the matter Darling?”

“I have vewy bad nooooos Mammy”

“Oh no? What happened?”
(Sobbing…)

“Michael Jackson has DIED!”


(WAAAAAAILS for at least 2 minutes, thankfully so grief-stricken that she doesn’t realise I am in fits of laughter in the front seat. In fairness, with my shoulders dancing as they are, she possibly thinks I am sharing in her devestation.)

What should I say? How do I deal with her grief? When did she begin caring about Michael Jackson?

What does a sensitive, open and emotionally supportive Mammy say to their child in such a situation?

“Cheesy pasta for tea?”

“Oooooh yes please!”

#mammywin #sorted

I am Silent Puker Mum

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How to sleep with a silent puker… 😐

Who the hell am I kidding? There IS NO sleeping with a silent puker.😥😥

Princess makes no noise.
None.
She can empty the 4 stomachs she seems to have inherited from the Granda’s cows, without making so much as a single sound. 😂 It’s shocking.
Not.
a.
Fricken.
SOUND!

And it means that when she is unwell, (which quite frankly seems to be every fecking FORTNIGHT since we went back to school😠), Mammy here gets to spend the night with small person’s foot shoved up her nostril, or her skull on my nose…

The bed is covered in towels, the basin is set on the bedside locker. Of course, she manages to sleep on the only part of the bed that ISN’T covered by towel and if she pukes, I can damn be sure that she’ll hit the ONE part of the bed that hasn’t been protected! 😂

I end up dozing, sitting upright in the bed, constantly ready to jump for the basin. Every sound she makes, every time she turns, every time her breathing changes or pauses… Crazy frog here is wide awake and ready to pounce.

Everytime she gets a tummy bug, I end up booking a session with a physio within a week because my Mammy Bear reflexes are more concerned with keeping her safe (and keeping the fricken bed clean😂!) than minding my dodgy back.

The Him gets banished to the spare room. Not by me.
Hitler-beag doesn’t like sharing beds with anyone but Mammy. She hisses at him like a deranged Gollum determined not to share her “Precious” with anyone.
Poor lucky Fecker… 😐😂😐

He checked us this morning before he went to work. We looked like a right angle apparently. Her leg was across my jaw. I swear to God, there’s times I think that wee Doll would climb back inside me if she could.

So yes. Poor Baby.
And Poor Mammy. (Seriously. Shape of me!)

Night 1: No sound = No sleep.

She’s snoring now…in her own room. I’ve only checked her 23 times since 7.30pm.
And so begins Night 2: the night of “Mammy needs to but can’t sleep becuase she’s going to leap out of the bed and run to her room everytime she moves in the cot”…

What the feck am I like?
Anyone else got a silent puker?