Tag Archives: mums

I am sunday Mornings Mum 

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​”I just LOVE 6am starts with my precious minions, especially on a Sunday, after 4 consecutive nights of no sleep and sick baby.” #soblessed #sundaysnuggles #earlymorningsareTHEBEST
#shutthefuckup
6am: 1 hour and 13 minutes after your last trip to her room, and you hear the grumble of the monitor AGAIN. It’s still dark. You know you haven’t been sleeping long enough for it to be morning already. You hear the whine, or groan, or snuffle from the monitor and you hold your breath, hoping to Christ she’s simply lost her dodey and will go back over.  I don’t know why you hold your breath, but you do.  And you don’t move a muscle because you KNOW that she will sense your movement from the next room and you will basically be giving her permission to wake up fully if you breath…or move.
She goes quiet for about 30 seconds.  You’re JUST exhaling when you hear the “CRAAAASH!” as the Dummy is fecked onto the floor, followed by her feigned shocked tone as she announces “uh oh! DOOOOOODEEEEE?”  

Feck.

Then, a few minutes later, it comes, clear as an alarm clock…”MAAAAMMEEEEE”. 

Game over.
Regardless of what other tricks you have up your sleeve; popping the dummy back in her mouth, bringing her into your bed for snoozes, praying; you and she BOTH know that she’s won. You have only ONE other chance of getting another hour of sleep.

One chance.

One possibilty…

But then you look over at the big Gobshite, who is either genuinely in a fucking coma, or just doing a MARVELLOUS job of pretending he doesn’t hear your swearing and grumbling or the brass band now battering in the next room, and you KNOW you have about as much chance of Ryan Gosling turning up at your door and whisking you off for a 3 week holiday in the Maldives where he plays the piano and sings to you, while Jamie Dorian feeds you grapes all day long…
So just to make sure Gobshite Boy KNOWS how fecking AMAZING you are for dragging your arse ljt of bed for the 4th time since you got into it, you quietly and subtly SNEAK out of bed, tiptoe out of the room and gently close the door, leaving him to his slumber…

Or, you dramatically THROW the duvet off BOTH of you, sighing and grumbling things like “FINE. I’LL get up AGAIN shall I? Watch now in case Mammy MIGHT get a FUCKING SLEEP.  YOU SLEEP ON THERE DARLING. DON’T LET YOUR KNACKERED WIFE OR YOUR 2 LITTLE DARLINGS DISTURB YOU THERE NOW WILL YOU.” And just for fear, he hasn’t realised that youre a tad annoyed, give the door a good SLAM as you leave your beloved to roll back over.

He’s knackered too God Love Him.

All that sleeping has him SHATTERED.
But being the martyr you are, you stagger to the kitchen, baby on hip, minion skipping beside you. Yes. Skipping. At 6.13am.
You change nappies, pour milk, feed minions, turn on Scoobyfuckingdoo and make coffee, which you don’t even get to drink. You try to be optimistic and think about #sundaysnuggles but your little Darlings don’t DOOOOO snuggles. They prefer to ignore you except for snarling for food, pull out toys and saucepans, and terrorise each other.  The only way you can guarantee snuggles is if you dare look like you’re taking a snooze. Then, they’re on top of you until they’re convinced that you are awake and alert enough for them to ignore you again. 👇👇👇


And all the while, Sanctimammy in your head is thinking, “They are perfect. I am a wonderful 6am earth Mamma and they are precious and I really do love watching them play. And my Darling Him needs a lie in really. Who needs sleep anyway? #soblessed” 

But the REAL Mammy is thinking “Me. ME. THAT’S who needs a sleep. Me. And of course I love to watch them play, but only after 8.30am, you know, in ACTUAL DAYTIME? And FECK Him the Big snoring Twat. I deserve a sleep-in this morning soooooo much more than he does. Gobshite. #soblessedmyarse #FML”
Anyway, a coffee shall fix everything no doubt.
You may as well do a load of washing. You’re up now anyway. But then you remember there’s cake in the fridge…and suddenly all is right with the world.
Of course, things could be worse Mamma Bear, but you know what? That doesn’t mean that you can’t have a grumble does it?

😘😘😘😘

I am Screaming Leaving Granny Mum

Posted in blog, children, family, tantrums, Uncategorized by

​It is sooooo  Grapejuice o’clock on this wonderfully unfeckeuped feck-it-up Friday.
I was doing well you know…
I was doing SO well that I smugly thought I’d get through a full day without shouting or scolding or being a generally horrible Hell-Beast to my little angel.
 I nearly did it…
And THEN she pulled her usual stunt in “Gwanny’s” that leaves HER in dramatic floods of tears, ME ready for the Nut house and my poor Mother torn between remembering what it was like to be mortified in front of HER Mother, and wanting to steal the Demonchild from me and to raise her in the non-shouting, calm and much more cushioned safety of Granny’s house.
Imagine a Disney Fucking princess as she is dragged, sobbing, from her Prince, hand outstretched and a sad and melancholic expression on her tear stained face, mouthing the name of her lost one, in slow motion of course…
Imagine the child in The Railway Children or such orphanesque tale, watching their only relative as the train pulls away from the platform, knowing that they’ll never see them again…
Imagine the scene in The Hunger Games where Catniss is about to be catapulted up into the Arena and the baddies attack her BFF right before her eyes.

There’s nothing she can do.
She is helpless.

It is terrible.
Now imagine the Gobshite who is causing the drama.  

That would be me.  😭
And poor Granny is witness to the atrocities.  She wants to scoop the little angel into her arms and hush her and sooth her and tell her it’ll be OK and that OF COURSE she doesn’t HAVE to go home with Mean old Mammy and OF COURSE she can stay with Granny for ever and ever and ever and ever cause Granny will NEVER get cross like mean old Mammy.
She wants to.
But of course she doesn’t. 
She helps poor, mental, wits-end Woman put the obviously  abused, unloved and despairing child in the car, telling her she’ll see her tomorrow and to be a good girl for Mammy.  It breaks her heart no doubt.  
The girlchild is so convincing that a little part of ANY witnessing adult would possibly consider ringing fucking Childline to report Cruel, Uncaring, Crazy Mammy.

But.

Granny has been here before.

Granny has been on the other side of it.  

(Obviously with much less dramatic daughters, given the three angelic girlchildren she raised…😂😂😜😜)

Ans as much as Granny does indeed want to save her little girl from the Scary One for a night…she also knows that her little girl HAS to take the scary one home! 😂😂😂
This scene pretty much kills both of the grown ups, but they BOTH know that by the time Madam TurboTwat gets to her own house, (a whole 76 yards away), she’ll have completely forgotten the dramatic ordeal which evil Mammy has just subjected her to by asking her to put on her fucking boots to go home. 
The 90 second drive home will be sufficient for her to completely FORGET her violent and impressively fucking MENTAL protest in Granny’s street.  She shall wipe her tears away, skip in the door and ask “Is scooby Doo on?” before demanding a “cuppa mulk pwease” and then informing Mammy that she is her “best wee mammy” as she is handed said cuppa fecking milk.
And Mammy will stand at the door, watching her in disbelief, completely fooked and wishing that there was some time machine that would whizz her forward half an hour so she could sit on her arse and recover her sanity with some grapes.
Cheers Dollies.

🍷🍷🍷

#callthemammypolice #notathingwrongwithher #fml

I am She’s hit Poohbeartee Mum

Posted in blog, children, parenting, Uncategorized by

​Once upon a time there was a Supermum who woke up full of the joys of spring.
“I’m going to go for a quick run before you go to work Darling ” Her said to Him.

Then S-Mum saw the glittery slippery ground outside and so opted for a long shower instead of a quick run.  
S-Mum had a whole 7 luxurious minutes standing under the hot water, as opposed to her usual “step in, quick rinse and step out” routine.  (S-Mum has mastered the art of showering in the length of time it takes Princess to crawl from the kitchen to the bedroom.   It’s a skill I tell you.)   
This morning, S-Mum shampooed her hair not once, but TWICE…AND… she put conditioner in.  And get this? She got to leave the conditioner in for a whole 2 minutes.  She EVEN got to use the scrubby face wash…
And so, S-Mum bounced to the kitchen, full of the joys of spring and determined that today would be a perfectly marvellous day of fun with her two perfectly behaved princesses.  
And then S-Mum remembered that her almost 5 year old Mini-Me is going through “Poohbeartee.”

Poohbeartee is what I have decided to call the phase of utter fucking MAYHEM that is happening in my little darling’s world right now.
She is emotional. She is impatient. She is cranky. She is grumpy. She is impossible and she is unpredictable.  One minute she is laughing, the next she is crying. She reminds me of myself…(you know…once a month..for like, oh, I dunno, about 29 days or so 😂😂.)

  It’s not pretty.

One second she loves me, the next she is declaring that she “has to go live with Granny”.  Yesterday, she spent 20 minutes on top of me BAWLING because “I’m not the perfect daughter!”.  (Note to self. Mulan is banned, the fucking Twit.)
But, today, full of the joys of Spring and invigorated by having had TIME to SMELL the actual SMELL of the smelly shower creams, S-Mum remained optimistic that all would be right with the world and we would have a wonderful day.

And we did, up until about 5pm.


Between 5pm and now, I have lost the spring in my step.

She has screamed.

I have screamed.

 I have tried very hard to “ignore it” and “stay calm”. 

She has slammed doors.

I have pissed her off ROYALLY with such unreasonable requests as “Please eat your dinner” and “Brush your teeth.”
I have said each instruction on average 9 times each. And have realised that regardless of the tone or volume of my voice, she’s decided not to fucking HEAR me, never mind LISTEN to me.
It seems that all I have to do now to cause a complete “Poohbeartescant” strop, is to walk into the same room as her.  

She’s gone to bed declaring me no longer her best fwend because I wouldn’t let her take a glowing red fucking torch to bed with her.  Then she cried for ten minutes because she doesn’t  WANT me to no longer NOT be her best fwend, before telling me that Daddy is reading her a story tonight because I don’t “dweseve one.”
“I love you” I called after her as she gnarled and hissed at me going out the door…
Him puts her to bed and Mammy tidies away the toys, trying not to think about the fact that she is OBVIOUSLY doing EVERYTHING FUCKING WRONG because S-Mum stooopidly thought that Little girls didn’t start to hate their mums until the good old age of 13 or so.


Then, she looks at the “Worry Plaque” she’s bought to “appear” on the wall tonight and says a prayer that it works as well as everyone says it does, so that her little Pooh Bear might learn to relax a bit and Mammy won’t feel so fucking useless and impatient and frustrated.
Fuck me.

I’d try anything at this stage.
Mammy can not win.

Mammy wants a gin. 😍
And then sneaks down to give the Scary one a kiss on the cheek as she sleeps, when she is not quite so terrifying and there is no chance that Mammy’s simple general presence in the room can bring on a row.
The End… until tomorrow. 😐
#pouritnow

I am Sleepless Nights & Schoolbags Mum

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​Hello Ladybelles.
It’s been a funny old week here at S-Mumblehill.

I feel like it’s been 16 days since Monday.  I’m knackered.
Monday was apparently officially the shittiest day of the year.  I don’t usually believe this crap but by 8.50am I was agreeing out loud with the radio presenter as I pulled into the school carpark. “YES. Yes it fucking well IS the shittiest day of the year. And it’s not even 9am.”
  Mini-Me had been up for yet ANOTHER full fecking night, PLAYING in her room and setting up weird little messy shrines in the fricken hall.  “Oh she’s imaginative” said one of my colleagues in a futile attempt to comfort me.  My reply…”Well she can be imaginative without creeping around the flipping house at 3am, making an unholy fucking MESS of random crap in my hallway, just outside my bedroom door thank you very much.”
 I’d taken great pleasure in bouncing into her bedroom at 7am, turning on the light and singing “Good morning Beautiful. It’s time for schooooool!” (That’ll teach you you little night creeper.) I was prepared for a grumpy little Gollum who would pull the covers up in protest and be like a bag of bitches all day.  I WAS NOT prepared for the little face glaring up at me, COVERED in blue.  She had drawn ALL OVER her feckin face in blue crayon and both she, AND the pillow, were like something that smurfville had puked up.💙💙
Cue meltdown central, for both of us… Me trying to keep cool and not scream at her and FAILING miserably; her trying to remember wtf was on her face that was making Mammy so mental at Stupid O’Clock…and Princess crawling at my leg shouting “nonononono! ah! Ah! Ah! AH!”

So off I trotted to class, feeling shite at having lost my cool and sent her off to school probably still covered in blue crayon.
#Twatmum.
 The rest of the week has been busy and filled with MANY stressful bedtimes, where she’s been up, still wide awake until after 10pm.  I have NOOOOO IDEA what is going on. She’s usually so good at bedtime, so this is weird and I PRAY it’s only a phase.  I tried letting her have some chill out time in her bedroom before bed.  Didn’t work.  She just made a complete mess.  I’ve even had to lock my bedroom door as she was in there last night and left a trail of my fricken Chanel lippy on the wall. Cheers love.  I’m going to do it back to her you know.  When she is old enough to have nice stuff, I am going to draw all over her bathroom mirror with her favourite lippy.  So there.
So today, I’ve opted for the good old faithful Fresh air stunt.  I let her run wild on Fahan beach, 👇👇👇👇 (my ABSOLUTE favourite spot in the world.  AN hour there can fix all the world’s problems!), and then directed her towards the trampoline for half an hour when we got home.  I’m afraid to look down the hall, but I have a small notion that she MIGHT just be asleep, WITHOUT any hallway adventures.


Fingers crossed. 😂
I am confident that she shall sleep like a cherub until 7am and that I shall NOT break my ankle tripping over a fortress of lego and naked dolls outside the bedroom door.  Then, she shall awaken from her slumber and the bad tempered, exhausted, emotional wreck demon I’ve had here all week, shall be replaced by my smiling, perfect little angel… hugely confident.

Well confident enough.


And incase anyone doubts that I’ve lost my shit altogether, here’s my #mammyfuckup of the week…  I sent her to school today WITHOUT HER SCHOOLBAG.
Yup.

Do you think I deserve a wee grape? 😒😒


Make me feel better supermums.

What was your #Mammyfuckup of the week? 😂

I am Some New Year’s Resolutions Mum

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​My lazy self has decided that ACTUALLY, I probably should make a few New Year’s resolutions after all.  I’m feeling a bit left out on Social Media today as everyone posts their resolves and memes about the new year and blank canvasses and new beginnings.

ANd then I remembered writing some resolutions at the end of 2016, and I found the post.

Turns out, they are EXACTLY the same as what I want to write today.  Does this mean that I didn’t achieve my goals in 2017?  NO.  I kept everyone alove and well and kept my general sh*t between the ditches, didn’t I?  No.  It simply reminds me that parenting is a constant process and that being the perfect parent is elusive.

And so I begin 2018 with similar thoughts.

1. I must stop scolding Mini-Me. It doesn’t feckin work anyway. I’m wasting my energy.

2. I will be calm and zenned at all times… (mostly after 8pm when the Minions are snoring and I have a glass of something soothing in my hand.)

3. I will learn a new language.  Something foreign and exotic and sexy…Yeah. Actually, No.  My arse.  I have enough bother getting coherent sentences to come out of my mouth in English, and now that I’m having to say the sound “BUH” instead of fucking “BEEE” for the letter b, I’m already technically learning one anyway.  My brain would combust with any more pressure. (Seriously, how the hell are the kids going to spell their namesnin the future! “Muh-iiiih-naaaa-iiiii-muuuuu-eeeeee”  That shit bothers me.)

4. I will get rid of the 18.4 stone I’ve eaten and supped over Christmas…(starting next Monday.  There’s 6 more days until the New Year technically begins.) #operationskinnyarse

5. I will never raise my voice to my child.  (I shall lean in and whisper. It’s much more effective. Bookface taught me that one. It’s good isn’t it.)

6. I shall have a clean house at all times.  (At least once a year, for at least 3 days.The rest of the time? Yeah right! If I can keep them all generally alive, fed and clothed in public, I say I’m winning.)

7. I shall never blackmail or bribe my children. That would be terrible. Such techniques are only employed by bad, terrible, desperate, bat shit crazy bitch mamma…( Maybe I should change this to I will try to stop being a bad, terrible, desperate, bat shit crazy bitch Mamma? Might be a better starting point than giving up blackmail. Can’t go cold turkey like…)

8. I shall travel more and make more time for me.   (I shall take the long way home once a week, AND I’ll listen to the RADIO instead of the fecking FROZEN soundtrack when I’m in the car on my own.  Now THAT is Mam-ME time guys! )

9. I shall stop having imaginary arguments with people while I am in the shower or the car.  It’s not healthy, especially when you turn around, mid-rant covered in lather and Mini-Me is standing staring at you and asks “Who are you talking to Mammy?” or interrupts your rant with “LANGUAGE!” in that condescending, disapproving tone of hers from the back seat, causing you to almost crash the frickin car with fright.  Maybe this is just me? Anyone else?

10. I shall stop drinking grapejuice … gin is not as calorific apparently. And Slimline tonic is basically just water isn’t it?

11. I shall stop swearing.

12. I shall stop lying and accept myself as the deluded, delusional talker of general shite that I am.

I could keep going. But in reality, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing next year.  I might be doing stuff wrong, but I’m also doing stuff right and that’s all that matters.

What are your resolutions for 2018?

 

Wishing you a magical Christmas (1)

Happy New Year!