I am Some Real Men Mum

The award for biggest Twatsickle of the week goes to the very wonderful specimen of the 19th century man, that is Piers Morgan.

For he is manly and strong and opinionated, and makes about as much sense as a pubic hair in a microwave…

WTF S-Mum?

What kind of ridiculous and far-fetched and non-sensical image is that?

Well it’s ALMOST on the same level of fuckwittery as the opinions of Old Man Morgan and his prehistoric views that men who carry their babies are emasculated.

He berated Bond actor, Daniel Craig in a Twitter post which has caused interweb meltdown and given the old gobshite far more publicity than he deserves.

Tell me.

HOW could a man, who is a father and who is caring for and carrying his offspring, possibly be described as emasculated?

HOW can this man of the world not understand that actually, there is nothing MORE MANLY than a man who looks after his child.  For the children, believe it or not, belong to the father too.

And before anyone jumps on the “Not all men are good fathers” train, that is NOT what this post is about.  Of course some men are twatholes.  But, so are some women, so let’s not go off point.

To me, there is nothing more wonderful and adorable and god damn SEXIFUL as watching a man being a dad; doing what he can for his kids, being a role model to his kids, taking on whatever job needs doing and stepping up to the mark.  And that includes the Dads who carry their babies… if anything, there is nothing MORE MANLY than seeing a Dad being a DAD.

But off you go back to your cave, you pillar of Gobshitery.  Back to your chest beating and grunting.  Back to your prehistoric notions.

You are not able for the men of our society, who know that raising chidren is NOT only the role of the woman.  Who know that the sign of a real man is not to think himself above the mundane realities of the domestic word. Who know that Dads don’t “babysit”, they simply parent…

Well, the real men anyway…

Justice however was served in many ways, from online photobombards of real men carrying their babies, to high profile Dads hitting back at his embarrassing comments, to comedian Harry Hill throwing a pie in his face “for Ross Kemp and for Daniel Craig” and all papoose-wearing fathers on Good Morning Britain! 

But hey!  There’s no such thing as bad publicity is there?  I don’t think that starting an international conversation about how many wonderful dads and “real” or “masculine” men there are out there was this Turbotwat’s intention, but it has certainly been the result.

So here’s to the Real Men.

Mammy x

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I am Such a Silly Notion Mum 

Ooooooh it’s Friyay.

Today Mammy took a notion.
Mammy is going to surprise the girlies by bringing them to meet Daddy for a surprise dinner date and we’ll have a lovely family evening with our two well behaved darlings, who Shall eat their Yummy dindins. Then we shall have the joy of watching them eating Pink icecream, the adorable little munchkins, before going home for a relaxing bedtime where Daddy would put them to bed while Mammy pours a glass of grapes and puts her Tired feet up for a good old Corrie wedding…
Yeah.

Mammy is a deluded Twatsickle who often falls victim to her very own Disney Princess notions. 😂

But never fear.

Mammy has her very own Mini whose main purpose in life (today anyway) seems to be to knock Silly Mammy off her Disnified perch.
We did meet Daddy.

 From the second we sat down, Mini-me was a wagon. A proper little shitsickle. She made Princess look like an angel. That IS Quite the achievement! I won’t go into too much detail but when I tell you that ignoring the waitress, refusing to order, asking for a cocktail, bursting into tears because Mammy ordered for her, sliding onto the floor, scribbling on the menu were only a FEW of her party tricks, you can imagine the rest. 
Mammy and Daddy spent the date sending each other apologetic “what we’re we thinking” looks and starting conversations they both knew would not be finished before they started. 
Mammy wished she could go back to correcting exams and considered that she should have just gone home to cook the freezer contents. Daddy wondered why he had ever thought that leaving work early was a good idea… I’m guessing that only for fear of Divorce, he would have happily gone back to his BFF Jim.
They did go home: After NO dessert. They did get the girls to bed: After NO story and plenty of the special strops reserved only for the first Friday night after school holidays… 
Mammy did pour grapes. 

And just like Mammy’s fairytale picture of her evening DIDN’T happen, neither did the Corrie Wedding.  
But See there’s where Mammy is going wrong… sometimes life is Corrie, not Disney. 

At least with Corrie, you expect disaster! 

Here’s to all you Mammies who got a reality check from your little Notionwreckers today.
And here’s to Poor Sinead… she’s better off. It’s only have ended in no icecream and wine.

😂🍷😘

How was your Friday?

I am So not a Pottering Mum

Oh Joyful Joyful Joy! It is FriYay.

As it is the last Friday of the summer holidays, Mammy figured it was PROBABLY about time she started some Back-to-school shopsy. I dropped Princess to childcare and headed into town with Mini-Me, fully intending to “potter” around the shops for a few hours, casually picking up the bits and pieces she needs for returning to her wonderful, joyeous, heavenly educational establishment.

I anticipated a leisurely day of “pottering” with my first-born, where we would hold hands and giggle and have treats, and Mini-Me (free from the competitive…sorry, companionship, or the Wobbler) would lavish in having Mammy’s undivided attention and behave like a Walton child…

And THEN I remembered that I am NOT one of those InstaMammies who can “potter”, especially when accompanied by a 5 year old She-Witch who HATES shopping, starts sentences with “Mammy, in the olden days when you were little…” and had asked “Are we going home now?” 1275 times by mid-day. 😣😣😣 No.

Mammy doesn’t potter. Rather, Mammy TROTS. Like a drunk Pig who can smell the truffles under the muck, I scrummaged through the rails of grey and navy tracksuit bottoms only to realise that every single fecking Mammy in the County had bought the 5-6yrs and 6-7yrs while THEY did their Back-to-school potter BACK IN feckin MAY! The WENCHES. 😈😅 I swear to you. There will be 11 year olds turning up to schools next week wearing 5-6 trousers, just so their Sanctimammies can scoff and tut “I told you so” at their screen tonight.

I eventually found trousers, only to discover that I had been truffling in the boys’ section, and after the kind lady directed me to the girls’ section, my futile search for the right size began again… (Seriously, the trousers are IDENTICAL. Why they BOTHER with separate sections, is beyond this last-minute Mamma.)

On top of the Back-to-school shite, we also had to scour the town for something nice for Mammy to wear tomorrow night for The Him and Jim’s Summer Shape Up Presentation night. I HAD ordered a FABLIS sexyful, lowcut (to the bellybutton like) jumpsuit, which looked AMAZING on Mylene-of-the-Klass online…

When it arrived however, I remembered that I shouldnt shop on the interweb after 2 glasses of malbec and that Mylene actually HAS boobage,so unless Littlewoods deliver instant boobjobs, the beautiful jumpsuit must be returned. How terribly sad I am about that. (I may writento them to suggest that their returns sheet should have a box marked “Not suitable for fried eggs” or “I forgot I don’t have boobs” or “WTF was I drinking?”😂😂)

I didn’t get anything. There’s NOTHING in the town, just like all the NOTHING in my wardrobe. But whatever. Mini-Me is now asleep after her day of torture, Princess is snoring and there’s a grape in a glass, begging for mouth-to-mouth. 😂😂🍷

How was your Friday? Any Feck-it-ups?