I am Stupid Idea Mum

We’ll it’s a big fat #fml this evening Dollies…😑

You’d think Mammy would have learned years ago, wouldn’t you?

Whatever Twathead notion took me this evening, I decided to venture into Derry AFTER afterschool, after the first full week, after Princess Demonica had not taken a nap at creche…
Wtf is wrong with me?

“Ooooooh let us spend the evening Pottering around the delightfully bright and sensory stimulating shopping centre, being Picture perfect Mummy and Cherubins, giggling and Smiling and skipping through rails of clothes so Mummy can teach you the joys of shopping and girly time and #makingfuckingmemories!” sang Twathead Mammy as she parked the car.

‘I think not Wench’ thought Demonica, deciding there and then that Mammy would be punished for abandoning her in the Wonderful, colourful, loving and nurturing childcare facility while she dares to go to work-work to do her other job.

And so, within 40 minutes, she had thrown pitch perfect Screaming fits outside no less than FOUR shops, lay down on TWO floors, sat happily while eating the desperation bribe chocolate Twathead bought, before Screaming so Loudly in Marks-of-the-spensive that three old women tutted in sympathy, (for her or me? Fuck knows) and one old man pretended to scratch his ear…but Mammy suspects he was turning down his hearing aid.

Then.
To top it all off, she hit a man on the arse.

Yes.

In the queue at the checkout, she lifted her hand, hit the man in front of us a (gentle but still) slap on the jeaned bottom and then announced “Him’s got da same jeams as YOU Mammy!” before continuing to drink the £87 bottle of fecking water that she had opened before I saw her lifting it.

THANKFULLY, Mr Levi was a very lovely Grandad type who laughed it off.

But dear SWEET Jesus and the Rabid Donkey, had the ground opened, I’d have leapt into it, jeans first.

So yes.

Home we came. Daddy’s car was in the street.

“Yay!! Daddy’s HOME!” squealed the Minions.

“Yay! Daddy’s HOME!” thought the Mammy… before depositing them in the house, shouting “TAG, YOURE IT” and driving straight back out the gate to MY Mammy’s house for a cuppa.😂🤣

Did I get anything in Derry?
Yup.
A sore head, 2 chocolate bars and…absolutely mortified. 🙄

Tis wine o’ the clock Bitcheepoos.

How was YOUR day?

I am Space Leggings in Jim Mum

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.

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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.

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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.

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My Random Musings

I am She flipped the Bird Mum

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 Swallow me up please Ground Mum

Tonight, I need advice.  😐
How does one get the ground to ACTUALLY open up and Swallow them? 

 Because if someone could work out an app for that, life would become soooooooooo easy.  😭
Today, we met my friend for coffee.  She recently broke up with Gobshite.  A grade A gobshite actually, but one of those Gobshites who was always nice to everyone, and so it’s difficult to actually say much bad about him.  
He was especially nice to my Mini-Me and so on the road to, (let’s say), Gemima’s house, she asked me: 
 “Will (let’s say) John-Joe be there Mammy?”   

“Nooooo Sweetie.  John-Joe doesn’t live with Gemima anymore pet.  They broke up so we won’t be seeing John-Joe anymore.”

“Never EVER again?”

“No Darling.  But it’s OK because Gemima is very happy since he moved out and she’ll be fine.”

“Ok.”
As we pulled into the driveway,  I remembered to warn “Don’t ask about John-Joe please Mini-Me.  I don’t want you to mention him while we’re here. OK?”
“Ok Mammy”.
Yeah right S-Mum. 😂😂😂 It took all of 3 minutes before she started.  
The conversation went something like this:
MM    Hi Gemima.  Where’s John-Joe?

G      Erm…

Me    Mammy already explained this Mini-Me, now go play with the cat.

MM    But where IS he?

G      John-Joe doesn’t live here anymore pet. We broke up.

Me    That’s enough now.  Where’s the cat?

MM    Well John-Joe was my fwend and I wuved him so you can’t have broked up.  Can you wing him and tell him to come back here RIGHT now so I can see him please?

Me      OK, Who wants a biscuit?  Mini-Me! Have a biscuit! (fuckitty fuck fuck!!)

MM    I don’t want a biscuit.  Why did you bweak up wif him?  I WUV John-Joe.  

Me   Enough now Madam. Hahah! She’s such a rascal. hahahhahaha  ( Where is the fecking cat?  Please GOD, send in the fucking cat.)

G    She’s grand.  Sure she doesn’t understand.

MM     I have a boyfwend you know?

G (smiling at the subject change)   Do you Sweetheart?  Who is your Boyfriend? 
And I KNEW, there and then, what was about to come out of the little Demon’s mouth…  I knew by her face.  I knew by the excitement on her face.  I knew because I KNOW her and her imagination… and I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up…
MM     John-Joe is MY Boyfriend.

(Yup.  She did it.😭😭  Like a mini Cameron feckin Diaz in a movie where she’s happily playing the mistress.  I couldn’t breath.  I looked at Gemima’s face, honestly uncertain about what I was going to see…  THANKFULLY, she was laughing.) 😄
G   Oh is he reeeeeeally?  Well good luck to you pet.  

MM    Well YOU bwoke up wif him, so you don’t want him anymore anyway.  Can I have another biscuit?

me    Yes Darling and then you can go out and play with the traffic…
Enter the blasted fucking CAT, 2 minutes too late.   “OooOoOOoh  CAT!  Hellloooooooo witto CAT!” she screamed as she ran out the door after the terrified and unfortunate creature. Better late than never. Stupid cat. 
And then we laughed and laughed and I’m pretty sure she did a super job to not cry, and we (half) joked that we would love a glass of wine rather than a coffee,(hahahahahahaha) and she joked about how funny Mini-Me is and how she has nothing to learn.
And I disagreed profusely because she has LOTS to learn, the most important and urgent thing being how to SHUT UP!  

Followed by how to say NOTHING when you’ve been warned to say nothing.

Followed by how to up her choice of Gobshite… but maybe we’ll leave that for another 10 years or more. 
I’m still cringing.

If the ground had opened, I would have jumped in, (but not before I’d grabbed the biscuits!)
How was your day?🍷
😘😘😘😘

I am Snaughling Mum.

Snaughling…

Laughing so hard that you snort…then laughing that you snorted.
Snorting is for pigs, but sometimes, it happens to the best of us!

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It isn’t the most gracious or ladylike thing to do, yet yesterday, I did it…in public.

So proud of myself was I after Wednesday’s achievement of getting Mini-Me to school, that I began to feel in control of things.  You know?  This Yummy Mummy was in charge again.  I was no longer recovering from “the Section”. I was fully recovered.  Fully.  Physically and mentally.  Completely and utterly in charge of my world again.  Well,  I thought I was.

Yesterday morning, leaving Princess snoring on top of Daddy, I dropped Mini-me to school again (Yay me!!) and went into town to run a few errands.
By 11.45am, I’d ticked off the to-do list, brought coffee home to Hubby, squeezed in a 2km power walk, grabbed a quick shower and had my eyebrows waxed!  The sun was shining.  It truly was a beautiful day, and I was indeed Supermum.

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I drove back to the school to lift Mini-me at mid-day, full of the joys of January.  On days like these,  “I have Confidence in me” from The Sound of Music often pops into my head, and so I was singing to Princess (as loudly as only the privacy of your car allows) as I drove.

Pulling into the car park, I saw that the class were in the Playground.  Double Yay!  I was now able to drive up to the gate and collect Mini-me without having to disturb Princess, who was somehow sleeping despite the noise of my singing.

I stepped…no bounced…out of the car and waved at Mini-Me.  Her little face lit up and she ran towards me, with a face full of happiness, shouting gleefullly “Maaaaaaaaammeeeeeee!!”

Screw The Sound of Music… this was a Little House on the bloody Prairie moment.  All was right with the world.

And then.

I was greeted by Mini-me’s teacher.  She’s chirpy and lovely in that infectious way that only a pre-school teacher can be.  She was smiling at me.  Yes.  A little more than usual.

“Hi there!” she said.  Were her lips twitching at the corners?
“Hi!  How was she today?”  I was obviously paranoid.
“Great!  No bother!”  I swear she’s trying not to laugh.

She puts her hand into her coat pocket, pulling out a little plastic bag.
I recognise the bag as the reserved for soiled pants type and think “Oh crap.  She’s had a wee accident.”  And I simultaneously remember that I forgot to put a spare pair in her bag.  I’m expecting the “We had a wee accident.  It’s OK, we found a spare pair in her drawer” line.

Instead I get  “Did you dress her in the dark this morning?”  Yup.  She’s laughing.  I’m not paranoid.

“No?  Why?”  My brain is now whizzing back through my perfect and productive Supermumesque morning.  I’m replaying the dressing of the child and nothing is standing out to me as unusual.  It was all pretty calm actually.

She was wearing two pairs of pants!” laughs teacher, handing me the little plastic bag.

What?  How was she wearing two pairs of pants?  That’s just ridiculous.
But then Mini-me looks up at me and squeels “I had TWO pants on my butt.  Silly Mammy!”   She’s delighted with herself.

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I’m horrified.  This is not the kind of thing that I do.  I’m in charge.  I’m sensible.  I’m completely organised thank you!

I feel my face turning pink.  My full face now matches the two strips of pink on my freshly plucked eye-brows.
I look at Teacher, who is now giggling unapologetically…As is her colleague who has been cleaning a little boy’s nose beside us.

This is one of those moments that you read about in novels.  It’s the type of moment that you cringe at; that makes you laugh at the silliness of the poor Mum, safe in the knowledge that it’ll never happen to you!

I was wondering how the hell to react, but before my brain could send a sensible reaction signal to the rest of my mortified body, I snaughled.

I threw my head back and laughed; then I snorted; then I laughed some more.
Teachers were laughing.
Mini Me was laughing.
I had spontaneously combusted and the embarrassment subsided as the hillarity of the situation became clear.
“At least her bottom was warm!”  I managed.

I put the offending plastic bag in my pocket, said Goodbye to the teachers and set Mini-me into her carseat.
I vowed that I’ll have my coffee before I dress her in future.
It’s not a big deal.  It’s hilarious.  And at least the teachers were able to say it to me, rather than laugh about me behind my back.  At least I didn’t send her out without pants!

There’s no greater feeling than a good laugh.  And it’s even more refreshing when it’s completely at yourself!  Even if I did snort!

And this little Piggy snaughled…all the way home.

I am Snaughling-Mum.  xx

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