Tag Archives: life

I am STOP TOUCHING ME Mum

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This Mammy loves hugs and squeezes and little chubby fingers on her skin.  Mammy loves kisses and Eskinosies and the feel of Mini-Me’s arms crawling around her neck for a hug.  Mammy is aware that when you become a Mammy, you are going to be touched, a LOT.  But Mammy is still, 5 and a half years on, not ready for the CONSTANT touching. 
It’s 24/7.  It’s mostly lovely, but JESUS, there are times when Mammy just wants to NOT be touched, even for a little while. 

LIke, a half an hour.  
Now, there is no harm in the Touching. It is usually quite acceptable and welcome. In fact, if we delve into the minds of the TOUCHERS in the house, it is clear that the touching is a sign (usually) of love and affection and it is important for affirmation of love and all that jazz, but sometimes, Mammy considers pretending to have Scabies, just so that everyone will piss away off for 20 minutes and stop TOUCHING her!

The Wobbler thinks:

Oh! There is Mammy.  I will touch her.  I will swing off her legs while she walks.  I will stand on her feet while she cooks.  I will sit on her head while she snoozes.  I will sit on her knee instead of on my chair.  I will sit on her chair along with her.  I will hold on to her hand so hard that if she tries to sneak away as I fall asleep, I will know.  I will insist on being lifted when I see her standing with nothing to do.  I will make special effort to ensure that if her tellyphoney rings, she will not forget that I am here, because I will tug at her leg until she lifts me and then I will rub her face.  I will stick my finger in her mouth.  I will stick my finger up her nose.  I will shove my finger in her ear.  Oh Lookit. Mammy is on the sofa.  That is my sofa.  I will sit on her head.  I will stick my hand down into Mammy’s bra to find the dodee that I didn’t hide there earlier.  I will touch her every time she walks by.  I likes to touch Mammy.  Mammy is soft and squishee and she smiles when I touches her so that is what I must do.  Always.  Forever. I am the bestest witto wobbler around.

The 5 year old thinks:

 I will ignore Mammy until I notice little sister sitting on her, and then I too will sit on her.  I will make sure she doesn’t feel lonely while she pees.  I will look after her while she showers. I will remember to ask her EVERYTHING when she is trying to talk to Granny on the phone.  I will ignore her in the coffee shop until her friend sits down to talk to her.  Oh Look! Mammy has sat at the the table. I must sit on her knee to make sure she doesn’t drink all of the coffee.  It is bad for her.

I will hug Mammy’s armpit.  I will stick my fingers in her armpit.  For some reason, I like armpits.  I must keep touching Mammy so that she doesn’t forget my existence for 3 minutes.  She must be touched as often as possible.

Mammy’s minions go to bed and Mammy wonders what feels so strange.  Is it the silence? Is it the calm? Is it the peace?

NO.  It’s the lack of touching.
Daddy comes home.  

Daddy thinks:
  Oh look.  There is my beautiful wife. She looks extra sexiful in those baggy PJ bottoms and my teeshirt.  I’m glad she hasn’t brushed her hair or washed her face today.  I like the smell of Bolognese on her face.  I have missed her so much that I must touch her everytime she walks past.  I will touch her.  I will slap her bum every time I pass her..  I will huggle her.  Mammy looks lonely there without the girls hanging off of her.  I will make her feel better.  I will hang off of her.  Maybe Mammy would like some hanky panky.  She has been here on her own with the kids all day after all.  I wonder did the baby hide her dodees in Mammy’s bra today..  Maybe I will check…
Oh.
Mammy is looking at me with sexy eyes…or maybe those are her I shall hurt you eyes… I can never tell.
“Don’t FUCKING TOUCH MEEEEEEEEEEE” screams Mammy.
‘Ok,’ thinks Daddy, ‘not her sexy eyes’.  Daddy realises. For some reason, Mammy doesn’t like being touched tonight.  She must be hormental.  
 Actually no.  Daddy remembers that this is The Touching Hour.    

Mammy needs her Touching Hour every evening.  It is like the Witching Hour, only more dark and dangerous.  And the chances of further touching depend on the success of the Touching Hour.
‘Where is the chocolate?’ Thinks Daddy.  ‘I should sit in the corner here and throw chocolate at her until she calms down’.  Clever Daddy.  “Will I make you a cup of tea?” asks Daddy.  Mammy snarls at him.  Daddy pours her a glass of wine.  Clever Daddy.  “Here you are Darling” he says, trying not to touch her.  
Mammy sips her wine, remembering a time when she used to pay people to touch her; When it was relaxing to have hands all over her in a smellified dark room in a spa or salon.  She would love to go for a massage, but that would mean someone else touching her and at this moment in time, that might make Mammy hurt someone.  
She looks at Daddy, who used to be the only person who touched her.  He is so lovely, she thinks.  He has a very nice bum.

After a while, Mammy walks past Daddy in the kitchen and slaps his bum.  “Yay!” thinks Daddy.  The Touching hour is over”, but Daddy lets Mammy pour another glass of grapes before he suggests such.  

 Daddy is clever.

Mammy sometimes feels like she lives with a squad of fecking Octopus…octopi?

But they are cute little octopi and by the morning, she will be ready for all the touching, all over again.

I am She flipped the Bird Mum

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Sweet Jebus and Baby Japonica of the Netherregions, I may actually vomit from laughing tonight.
The photograph below might seem terrible and offensive.  The photograph I SHOULD post with this post, WOULD be terrible and offensive, because it SHOULD have my beautiful 5 year old in it instead of me. 😣

Let me explain…
Mini-Me is a picker.  She LOVES to pick things, but she especially loves to pick her fecking nails. 
Now, this is a habit that is becoming a problem. She has the nails so picked down that they are barely even nails anymore; more like extended cuticles.  I am at my wit’s end.
I’ve tried everything.  I’ve explained. I’ve scolded. I’ve tried to talk to her. I’ve shouted. I’ve bought fidget spinners. I’ve tried to teach her how to click her fingers and on the advice of a kiddy O.T., shown her lots of alternative things to do with her fingers. I’ve tried everything.  Blutac works, but only until it gets stuck in the carpet, or her hair, or until Princess tries ro eat it. 😂
So I’m now trying what EVERY Mamma resorts to in the end.
 Blackmail.
I’ve told her that if she can get a white nail back on her 10 fingers, I’ll take her to my beautician to get her a glittery polish.  
She’s trying soooooooooo hard.  Soooooooo hard in fact, that tonight when I mentioned that her nails were still very sore looking and that I can’t wait to see them qhen they get longer, she ran across the room at me, eyes bulging in her head, shouting with excitement  “But LOOOOKIT Mammy! I DOOOOOOO have one white nail on DIS HAND, LOOK!”
And it was clear to see that on her MIDDLE finger, there is a tiny slither of white appearing.
I almost died.
Trying so hard not to buckle laughing in front of her, I managed to praise her and tell her it looks so much stronger and that it’ll soon be time to go to get them polished.
She skipped off to show Princess (yup. Finger up into her wee face!) shouting behind her “I can’t WAIT to show Granny my nail tomorrow!” (Granny, you’ve been warned…😂😂)
So IF we meet you out and about over the weekend and my Darling Mini-Me “flips you the bird” or whatever you’d like to call it, please know that it is VEWY innocent and not at ALL because she sees it at home. I may swear like a sailer, but I would NEVER do this in front of her, (well, not to her FACE anyway!😂😂)   
So I hope you understand why I chose to stage the pic? As much of a Feck-it-up as I may sometimes be as a Mammy, I’m NOT quite THAT bad. 

Not yet anyway! 
Now, decisions.
Red or white? Glass or bottle?
How was your day? 

😂😂😂😂

I am Still Juggling Mum

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Tonight, I am on the hard stuff. 😂😂


What am I celebrating? 

Life. 

 Normality. 

    And me.
I’m fecking celebrating ME.😉
Because although most of the time, I feel like I am juggling WAY too many china plates, all of which I’m certain are going to crash down around me,  I’ve realised that I haven’t dropped one yet. 

Why?

Because I’m a good juggler?

Because I have lots of help?

Because I’m Amazing?

Well, partially yes to all of these, 😂😂but the MAIN reason I have yet to drop one of them, is because they’re all far too precious and important to drop.
We’re all juggling.

Some of us juggle better than others. 

Sometimes, the trick is to know which plates to put down for a while.

Sometimes, we have to ask for help because we have way too many things in the air and we know that something is going to come crashing down.

Sometimes, we need to set everything down for just a few minutes, take a breath and start again, picking up only the most important plates…prioritising.
Like every Mammy, I wear a LOT of hats. 

I’m a teacher.

I’m a writer.

I’m an assistant director.

I’m an organiser.

I’m a performer.
But first and foremost I’m a wife and I’m a Mammy.
February is always a busy month for me as we build up to opening whichever musical we’re doing each year.  (We, as in both me AND The Him.)  

This February, I thought I was keeping it all between the ditches, and then the inevitable happened.

  Shit started to go wrong.😣
My Baby got sick.

Thankfully, she’s in much better form now, but her becoming unwell, threw extra stress and mayhem into my already busy headspace.

A few other things happened too; nothing to complain about in the scheme of things, but when you’re already sleep deprived and shattered, these little things become bigger don’t they?

I got sick.

I started to let things (and people) that wouldn’t usually even REGISTER in my head as important, get to me.

And then, to top it all, Work has promised to go into overdrive for the next month.
I did what every Mammy does when the shit hits the fan. 😆😶😣

I laughed and then I completely ignored everything other than my babies for a few days.

And it worked.
This morning, The Him let me sleep until I WOKE. 

10AM.

TEN.

O.

CLOCK…
And I swear to Peppa, it’s made all the difference. 
Yes, I’m up to my tiny titties.

Yes, I will he for the next month.

But, I’m very aware that I shall get on with it all.

And I’m very grateful to have all of the plates I have in the air.

They’re my plates… my girls, my Him, my job, my musical, my blog, my writing… all mines.

I’ll pull up my Big Girl knickers, slap on my smile, and I’ll start ploughing through my To-Do list like a gang of glammymammies get through a bottle of grapes.
So tonight, yes, I’m drinking bubbles.

I’m updating my website, I’m planning the finale of our wizard of Oz, I’m sitting in my pjs with The Him flat out working beside me, and I’m saying a Big Fat CHEERS to myself, because some days, you have to pat yourself on the back for being so fecking awesome and wonderful.

Because we are you know?

We’re supermums.
Happy Sunday night Ladybelles.

Keep ‘er lit.

And celebrate you.

💖💖💖💖💖💖