I am Sit on My Knee Mum

Posted in poetry, Uncategorized by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

“On my Knee.”
Today you are poorly,

My precious wee lamb.

Today you need Mammy

And right here I am.
I’ll sit right beside you

I’ll rub your wee toes

I’ll clean up your mess and

I’ll wipe your wee nose.
I’ll kiss all your fingers and

rub your wee face

I’ll not give a damn about

the state of this place.
I’ll cuddle and snuggle you,

I’ll let you complain

You don’t understand

this feeling of pain.
To see you feel poorly

It breaks Mammy’s heart.

I’d take every ounce of it,

every last part,
To make you feel better,

To make you feel fine,

I wish with my essence that

the sickness was mine.
And whether you’re sniffly,

or puking or hot,

You’ll sleep right on top of me,

not in the cot.
And yes this is minor

and yes you’ll be fine

But I am your Mammy

And your pain is mine.
So today, there are so many

things I should do,

But none of those things,

as important as you.
The world won’t stop turning

if I stay here with you,

Some days I’m just “Mammy”

Cos only Mammy will do.
So cuddle your Mammy,

Just sit on my knee,

When you need your Mammy,

right here I will be.
xxx Mammy xxx

18Feb2018

I am Stage Mum

Posted in Lifestyle, Uncategorized by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

“Where do you find the time?”

“How can you be bothered?”

“It can’t be worth that much work?”

Musicals.

I’ve been on stage my whole life, first as an Irish Dancer and for the past 14 years, as a member of Letterkenny Musical Society. This year, we’re doing Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5 The Musical.

The ultimate Girl Power Show!

Every September, we meet to begin our winter of rehearsals and of fun. It begins as once a week, and by February each year, it’s 2 to 3 nights a week and Sundays. At the minute, I’m eat, sleeping and breathing 9 to 5. I’m having ideas at 3am that are sending our Producer into tailspins. I’m dreaming about walking on stage with no bra on. Last night, there was a Bull in the wings as the curtain was going up… and it wasn’t me. My kids are singing the songs and my head is spinning.

I don’t KNOW how I find the time, but I do. In fairness, I rehearse when the girls are in bed. The Sundays are hard but it’s only for such as short time. The LMS gets me through the winter. It’s a family. It keeps me out of trouble.

Yes it’s a lot of work. Yes, it’s busy. Yes it’s a lot on top of being a Mammy AND working 9 to 5… But it’s worth it. Every member has a busy life. We all have day jobs. We all have families. We all have commitments. We all get stressed and tired coming up to the show, but then? Get-in day arrives and the curtain gets ready to rise, and we remember WHY we do it.

Next Sunday, the side door to the stage is rolled up, sunlight flooding the stage. Lighting rigs are hoisted at head height while the crew work on them. The production team are creating the world for the characters to inhabit. This year it’s an office in America in the late 70s.
I’ll arrive in the middle of it at around 3pm and walk onto the stage. I’ll close my eyes. The familiar voices of Hubby and the usual suspects calling instructions to each other, co-operating and working together will make me smile. The sounds of the cordless drill…the smell of fresh wood and sawdust…the muffled conversation of the sound guys from the auditorium… it will be beautiful.

I’ll open my eyes and look at the chaotic scene in front of me, wondering (not for the first time in my theatre life), at how within just a few hours, this chaotic canvas will be transformed into a completely believable world into which our amazing cast will step.

And then I’ll do what I do and get together with my colleagues to get our heads around the problems and challenges that only a production team can face, and by the time our cast arrive, we’ll be ready.

So how do I have the time? How can I be bothered? Is it worth it?

Yes. Because this is ME. Yes, I have children.
My girls are the most important thing in my world.
They are my show.
They are my production.
They are the choreographed chaos of which I’m most proud, and I’ll direct them through life with the same dedication and love that I put into the shows.

But they are also only a part of me.
Yes, I am their mummy, but I’m still me.
I’m still the drama queen that lives for the stage.
I still love the theatre.

I still love how pretending to be someone else can bring me to emotions that I’ve never experienced. I love to entertain. I love to make people laugh. I love that I can make people cry…
I still get goosebumps when I hear someone hitting that note.
I still get so carried away watching my closest friends on stage, that I cry because I absolutely believe the pain they are conveying.

And so, standing there next Sunday, I won’t feel guilty.

Yes, it’ll be a week of rushing and balancing, but my girls are quite safe and well looked after (the dog is so responsible!), and they know that show week is important to Mammy and to Daddy.

I’m playing Roz!

My girls will grow up in rehearsals for shows.
They’ll see the stress and work and time and effort that goes into this “hobby”.
They’ll learn confidence, respect, organisation skills.
They’ll experience the fruits of the long months of hard work, and they’ll learn that if you want something to happen, you must work to make it happen.
They might even perform on stage with me at some point.

Maybe they’ll work backstage with their Daddy.
Maybe they’ll hate it all. That’s OK too.

But if I can’t continue up to be who I’ve always been, just because I’ve been blessed with two little darlings, I’m not doing anyone any favours am I?

I am after all, Still Stage Mum.

9 to 5 opens on Tuesday 27th and runs until Saturday 3rd March.

Tickets for Friday and Saturday are almost sold out, so if you fancy being swept away by a super cast, a hilarious script and beautiful music, get your tickets soon.

Buy tickets here

17Jan2018

I am Space Leggings in Jim Mum

Posted in Lifestyle, parenting, Uncategorized by Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

Two words.
NEVER AGAIN!

“Oooooooooh Lookit!” thinks Mammy in local chainstore for disposable clothing which shall remain nameless.

“Look at the spacey, funky, pinkly-purply gym bottoms that are fablis and reduced! Oh my! Down to €5? What a bargain. Oh indeed Mammy shall have to have these. Mammy is indeed still uber-cool and chic and young enough to carry these off. Mammy SHALL be fablis and fearless in Jim in these bad boys. What a bargain!”

Silly Mammy.
Silly Silly Mammy.

Off Mammy trots to Jim, rather excited about the wearing of the rocket-fuel bottoms. Mammy is so excited in fact, that it never crosses her silly mind to try them on at home first.

“Should you not try these on first Mammy?” says Mammy’s inside voice.
“Pahah! DESIST, you annoying wench! I know what size my arse is and these leggins shall look spectacular on it” answers poor, deluded Mammy.

When Mammy gets to Jim, she pulls on the bottoms. They go up to her knees before the bottom of the legs on the leggings decide that they shall not move. In fact, they will not budge above Mammy’s ankles. And any hope Mammy has of getting the material to cover her calves, is left wittering on the changing room floor, beside Mammy’s dignity and confidence.

When Mammy does get the top part of the bottoms to go over her arse, she is suddenly aware that while yes, her legs and nether regions may in fact be covered, she still has two problems.
1. The bottoms are so beautifully stuck to her calves, that the crotch part of them is NEVER going to make the journey to HER crotch.
2. When Mammy moves, the fablis pinky purply space pattern DISAPPEARS, being replaced by wonderful see-through white!

FAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! thinks Mammy as she continues to bounce the bottoms up, trying and failing to get the crotches to align.

“FAAAAAAAACK!” shouts Mammy aloud as it dawns on her that this is as high as they will go. Thankfully, there is a drawstring on the top of the bottoms, (which were OBVIOUSLY designed for a giraffe with no ankles or calves and the leg circumference of a fricken table leg), and so Mammy ties it tight around her belly in the hope that at least the trousers will NOT fall off.

And so off Mammy toddles into Jim, where OF COURSE, Mr Fucking Motivator has a lovely circuit of Squats, lunges and Bear Crawls lined up for us. YES. I said BEAR CRAWLS… where Mammy and her Jimbuddies have to channel their inner Bear Cub and crawl like fecking MOWGLI through Jim, arses in the air!

“Ooooooooh, cool leggings Mrs R” coos one of the lovely proper-legging-wearing wenches.
“Oooooooooh nooooooooo!” answers Me. “I apologise in advance for the certain showing of my Hoohaa at some point during the next hour Ladies” announces Mammy. (Better to pre-empt the disaster eh? At least then, I can look like I MEANT for my table-leg/giraffe leggings to split along the pathetic seam on my unfortunate arse and offer heart failure to my training buddy half way through my squat jump.)

“3,2,1… Go!

I swear to God Ladybelles, I honestly thought that with every lunge I would hear the rip. When we were stretching, I could HEAR the material screaming. I could see the colour disappearing from every part of my legs that were moving. I could only IMAGINE what see-through catastrophe was happening on my arse. My calves were crying by the end of the session as the fecking material was trying so hard to merge into my skin that I truly feared that I might live the rest of my life with the awful, suddenly not so cool pattern, embedded onto my corned-beef skin.

Surprisingly, the bastarding Leggings DID survive the wrath of Jim.
Not so surprisingly, they did NOT survive Mammy REMOVING them from her poor suffocated legs. In fact, they had to be scissored off when she got home. Yes. I had to cut them off my calves.

Yes. I had to cut them off.

Lesson?

When you see leggings on sale seeming too good to be true, walk on by Mammy. They are indeed too good to be true.
And the next time I’m feeling guilty for spending money on proper gym bottoms, I shall remember that I am doing so for the good of my fellow Jimgoers, my nerves and my dignity.
And leave the funky, spacey, pinky purply leggings for the giraffes.

Traumatised I tell you.

Shared on

7Jan2018

I am Some New Year Mam-tras Mum

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

Happy New Year my Lovely Ladybelles.

By now, the trees are down and the house looks alarmingly bare. It’s back to uniforms and routine and lunches and gymbags…and after 2 weeks of dreadful flus, no heating and general Cabin Fever, I for one am ready for normality.

I took my tree down on Saturday morning and very quickly realised just how DIRTY my house is.

There is a layer of dust, of handprints and of pawprints and of glitter on every surface in my home and I have decided to give it a new name: it is my “Layer of Love”.

Giving it a nice name like that makes it easier to tolerate. Clever eh? I don’t feel so bad about the dirt now, when I consider that it was my own little munchkins who happily caused it.

In the midst of the New Year’s Resolution BS of January, here are a few precepts or mantras that I intend to try harder to follow this year. I’m not changing anything. I simply try to employ these in order to try to keep my sh*t together.

These would the Rules of Mammying if I were Queen of the World.

Embrace the Layer of Love. Yes, our houses must be safe and generally clean, but handprints on the glass or dust on the TV aren’t really good reason to stress, are they?
Let it go. The things that bother you? The people who annoy you? Are they really worth being bothered about? If it’s outside of your own 4 walls, it’s not important.
What people think of you, is none of your business. If people don’t like you, it’s THEM who has the problem, not you. Work on YOU liking you. Most important.
Believe that you can. Who says that you can’t? Tell that committee of negative thoughts in your head to sit down and shut up.
Stop Comparenting. Comparenting is my new word. It’s clever isn’t it? It’s when we compare our parenting to others. And it’s never positive or productive, so stop it!

I’m not going to change in 2018. I’m quite happy with who and how I am already thank you. I manage (just about!) to keep it all between the ditches just fine as I am and I will simply try to keep implementing these ideas in my daily life.

Especially the Comparenting one. I don’t care if Shaniqua’s Mum lets her sit in the front seat. I don’t care if Tarquin’s Mum gives him Football Special in his lunch. I don’t care if Jezzabell’s Dad brings her to every dance class going. Good for them.

Parent for your kids, in your home.

I hope your layer of love is only beautiful after the holidays.

10Dec2017

I am Some Christmas Reality Mum

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

Christmas.

I LOVE it! I love everything about it. I love the sparkle, the sounds, the smells, the smiles. I love the kindness. I love how it brings out the best in so many people.

But what I don’t love, is the pressure placed on us by the interweb to create magical, Christmas card worthy Hallmark moments. It’s started already; Instagranny and Bookface are full of pictures of beautiful trees and perfect living rooms. None of us posted the mess of them being put up though did we!? Myself included. Of course not. We want to show the world our best smile don’t we? We want to give the general idea that we’ve gont our sh*t together.

MY Christmas Eve shall be fablis. Here’s how it shall look if I post it online.

Some last minute, calm and fun shopping in town, a family breakfast with my siblings and all of our minions, a quick visit to the grandparents’ homes and then home, where Mammy will wear her apron and help the girls make homemade cookies for Santa, create perfect Belgian hot chocolate for them before snuggling up to watch a movie. Then, I prep all of the veg etc for Christmas dinner. Then, as Daddy bathes the girls and gets them ready for bedtime, Mammy shall pour a little drop of mulled wine and begin creating the turkey. We shall have some hearty homemade soup for tea and mammy shall double check her lists to ensure that all is done. In a whirlwind of excitement, the girls shall leave out their fablis homemade cookies, a carrot and some milk for Santa. They’ll sprinkle reindeer food on the steps and go to bed, happy and excited.

Then, Daddy shall pop a bottle of bubbles, we’ll finish wrapping presents and then we’ll cozy up on the sofa and wait for Santa.

REALITY CHECK

The last minute shopping will not be calm and fun, unless you have someone to sit in the car with minions while you pop in and out of shops.

Family breakfast WILL be fun, but it will most likely also be filled with nyaming and crying, with things like “She’s sitting on meeee”, “He got more berries” and “Stop that nonsense now!”. The adults will eat breakfast, pretending to have jovial conversation, but really just throwing random and disconnected statements at each other between bouncing the kids.

Visiting – Yes, but the over excited and wound up kiddies will be needing a sleep by then and there is a high chance of tantrums forecast once a loving and caring Grandparent enters the room. Add sugar before wrestling kids into car. Perfect!

Bake cookies: Buy a box of cookie mix. Add an egg and there you go. Mary Poppins indeed.

My favourite!

Hot chocolate: Not Belgian. Not fancy. Straight from the coffee machine pods. Plop in the marshmallows and she’s happy out..

Sure why not?

Movie: In my head it’s Miracle on 34th Street, in reality it’ll be ELF again for 38 minutes before Ben and Holly return. And it’ll be grand, because Mammy will realistically be watching it from the kitchen.

Homemade soup: HAHAHAHAHA! I’m not that organised. I go to Mum’s on Christmas Eve and steal a lunchbox full of hers. No point in both of us making it, is there?

Mulled wine: Buy a jar or packet. Slosh in some cheap wine and orange juice. Done. (Oh, and if you don’t like mulled wine, why the heck are you making it?)

Prepping dinner: This I DO do. Not because I’m Mary Poppins, but because the only thing any Mammy needs to be peeling on Christmas Day is the paper off presents (or the foil of my Chocolate Orange!) PS. Did you know you can buy PRE-PEELED SPUDS!? Go for it Mammy. It’s Christmas after all!

Do you really need baubles on the plates?

Lists: Once you’re home, scrap the lists. Whatever you haven’t bought by then, doesn’t need bought. I will do a last To Do list, just to remind me of what needs done before I can sit on my backside for a few glasses of grapes later. TIP: Write some stuff you’ve already done so you’ll feel better that there are a few lines through it already.

Bedtime: Yes it will be exciting, but it will also be frantic with two children who can’t control their highly stimulated and sugar induced emotion, and full of threats of “If you’re not sleeping, Santa won’t come”. Eventually, Mini-Me will succumb to sleep, but them going straight to bed and nodding off instantly is as possible as me getting a Chanel coat. Then you get to start to tidy and clean and do all the other stuff that needs doing, just like every other day. And who will notice or care if your sitting room looks perfect?

Warning… lasts a maximum of 3 minutes!

Presents: If you don’t like wrapping stuff, don’t. Keep it simple. You don’t need fancy curled ribbons. They do not need to be Pinterest worthy. Tell people the kids wrapped them, or better still, buy Christmas gift bags. Sorted. Santa doesn’t have time to wrap presents in my mind. Santa has better things to do.

I wrapped these myself…not!

Waiting for Santa? Yeah. After 2 hours of tiptoeing about the place, forgetting where things are and trying not to wake the kids with rustling bags, as you try not to KILL each other! Then you finally sit down to “relax” before realising that the kids will be up in, oh… approximately 4 hours!

Seriously though.

Relax.

What’s in that cup Mammy?

Christmas will come and go. It is magical and wonderful, but it is also what you make it. I just HOPE my Christmas is exactly as I have described, because cheats and realities and all, it’s MY perfect. No one else’s.

The Christmas inspector is not going to visit on Christmas morning to check if your home in Hallmark worthy. NO ONE actually cares that you wrap EVERY SINGLE ONE of the presents. No one cares what your kids get from Santa. No one cares if you have your hair brushed. No one cares if you’re all in matching PJs. And the only person whose opinion matters on these things, is you.

While we like to see people we like and care about looking happy on Christmas morning, remember that you are under NO obligation to post pics or share ANYTHING on social media. You are also under no obligation to even look at other people’s photographs on social media.

If looking at other’s “perfect Christmas” makes you feel crappy, put down the device and look at what’s in front of you .

Chances are, your perfect Christmas is right there in front of you…in the real world. Chaos and all.

Enjoy it!

The S-Mum

…the superbly honest blog of a Thoroughly Modern Mammy

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