I am Some Time, Sometimes Mum

Happy New Year Lovely People.

I’m not one for New Year’s Resolutions. If you follow me, you’ll know that I hate the ‘New Year, New You’ rhetoric. I hate the constant stream of “You need to change” and “You are not enough” marketing that is prevalent throughout the 83 days of January.

I’m pretty sure that in reality, we’re all already doing our best and so deciding to change everything in January is really unnecessary. With that in mind, while I don’t make resolutions as such, of course I think of January as a new start, full of opportunity and possibility. There’s nothing wrong with that is there?

And today, as we sit on the Sunday of “back to school” and on the brink of routine, I’m already anxious about how suddenly busy life will become again from 7am tomorrow.

And then I read this. I wrote it last year. I read it often.

As the Christmas break comes to an end and we Mammies take a breath, getting ready to begin to chaos of spinning all the plates again, it does us good to sometimes remember that sometimes, even when we feel like we’re running against time, we should appreciate it.

Myself included.

I am Some Time, Sometimes Mum

We’ve “no time” for dancing, We’ve “no time” to sing.

We can’t play that game or go play on the swing.

There’s washing and cooking and things to be done

And sometimes the last thing we think of is fun.

And this is all normal and life does get busy,

But if it’s so hectic it’s making you dizzy,

It’s time to consider the things that mean more,

The small things we all take for granted, I’m sure.

Like breathing and laughing and reading and such,

Like the fact that our lives are each made up of much,

Much more than our jobs or our grades or successes.

They’re made up of giggles and family and messes,

Of routines and drop offs, of friends and of breaks,

Of worries and stresses, of plans and heartaches.

If we knew every morning, what would lay ahead,

There are mornings we’d probably stay in our beds.

But know we do not. Of nothing we’re sure,

Except that we’re here and have one morning more.

So take all the compliments, laugh all the time,

Always give hugs and sometimes drink wine.

Build all the jigsaws, take all the smiles.

Walk in the countryside, drive one more mile,

Say if you’re sorry, cry if you’re sad,

Don’t waste time fighting. Fighting is bad..

Look at the sky and take time to see

the colours and patterns, reflect on the sea.

Don’t waste time worrying about what MAY be

Think of your present. Enjoy memories.

Follow your dreams, Make all the plans,

Never let anyone tell you you can’t.

And while we have problems and things might go badly,

Remember that others would swap with us gladly.

So if you love someone, please make sure that you say;

Tell them and give them memories to replay,

Because we just never know when that last hug or kiss

is being given. So make sure it’s one you don’t miss.

Breathe it all in and live life as you must,

Be kind and polite and remember to trust.

Travel and wonder and read all the books

See all the beauty we’d see if we looked.

When life is good, live it, and take every chance

And never look back wishing that you had danced.

Leave “no song unsung and no wine untasted”

For time spent being happy is never time wasted.

So play all the games and run to the swing

And always make time to dance and to sing.

(Maria Rushe 2018)

Great Expectations Vs Greater Reality

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.

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

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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?

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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!

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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!

I am Step Aside in the Loo Queue Mum

Listen up Bitcheepoos!

Can we introduce a new law?

Let us call it the Potty Parent law…

And let us apply it to all public toilets from this moment on.

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The law shall decree:
“When you see a parent in a queue for a public toilet, with a Potty Training Smallie who is on the verge of leaving lellow puddles at his or her or your feet, you MUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY and let that parent fast track to the porcelain pot IMMEDIATELY.”

You shall know the true Potty Parents by their desperate, fidgeting demeanor, as they
jump around trying everything to distract their child.

You shall know them by their repetitive-but-increasing-in-frequency-sing-songing of “Just hold on a minute” and “Keep that peepee in your touchee for two seconds” or “It’s nearly our turn Darling”.

And you shall recognize the wild and bulging eyes of the Potty Parent as he or she holds the volcanic wobbler on their hip, worrying not only for the lapse in dignity of their child if they peepee or poopoo on themselves, but also for themselves that Peepee or Poopoo will most likely end up trickling down THEM also.

And of course, while said parent will likely have a change of clothes in their bag for the offending wobbler, the chances of them carrying around a change of clothes for themselves is as likely as the wobbler’s bladder holding on much longer…

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So if you are in a queue in a public toilet and you see such a parent and child behind you in said queue, you must step aside and offer the next available cubicle to them.

Trust me, they shall bestow gratitude and praise upon you faster than the peepee that is running down their hip and Karma shall repay you in the future.

Thank you to the lady who recognised me as one of these potty parents in the SSE Arena last Saturday. Who turned to me and said, “You go ahead Love. She’s so good!” when I truly thought that the floor of the loo was going to end up as shiny as the ice the skaters were dancing on…

It was clear to her (Not to the other numpties who simply looked at me as if I were mental as I bounced around singing the “Just hold on!” song) that I was a Parent of the Toilet Training variety. Perhaps what gave it away in fairness, was my eventual roar of “OK PEE FASTER PEOPLE!” for this Mammy had reached her level of potty patience and knew that her little monster would not be able to hold it in much longer.

So yes. A new law. Or maybe even a little fast track lane drawn on the floor, you know like bicycle lanes in the city? Or a Bus lane? A little queue lane with potties drawn on it.

Because not only would it save the peepee of the wobblers, it might save the parents from losing the absolute “poopoo” too.

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I am Strap your Kids in the Car Mum

Most days we all see something silly or shocking on our roads.

Maybe it’s a close call.  Maybe it’s a near miss.  Maybe it’s someone speeding…

And usually, we tut, or we hold our breath, or we swear or gesture some form of WTF at the offending driver…

But there is ONE thing that is becoming more and more prevalent on our roads, and Mammy can not for the life of me get my head around it…

Driving with kids who are NOT STRAPPED IN.

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In the past fortnight, I have seen THREE cases of this.

One car swung around a busy roundabout in my town with two toddlers standing at the windows in the back seat.

One pulled in to a carpark beside me and the child, no more than 5 years old, jumped out of the front seat, having been already standing when the car came to a stop.

One had a three year old standing between between the front seats as she swung into a parking space this morning. And yes, I know the child is three, because I know the woman who was driving.

Can I say anything?

God no.

Because how do you say it? Why is it my business?  How do I have ANY idea what that parent has been through this morning? How can you possibly comment without turning into the one thing that I personally despise…a sanctimammy.

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Others will say “Oh there were no seatbelts when we were children”.  I know.  I am one of that generation.  But hey, guess what? There was a lot less traffic and the roads were very differnt. Also, in the 80’s we thought it was safe to smoke while pregnant and that it was OK for teachers to hit our children…

So, HOW is it possible that this is happening?

My kids have grown up thinking that my car won’t start until they have their seatbelts on.  Of course I have rows with them where one of them will refuse to get into the seat, or where one has planked so impressively that I can’t get their belly to buckle so I can buckle them in.  And we have been late many many times because of these stand-offs.

But guess what?

This is ONE battle of wills which this Mammy will ALWAYS WIN.

Because I don’t give a continental shite how late I am, or how much she is crying, or how much I want to scream and tear my hair out, there is NOTHING in this world which will make me put my children into the car without them being strapped in.

NOTHING.

(And trust me, I have put my back out trying!)

Because as difficult as kids can be and as much as we are “only going around the corner”, none of us know what or who is also coming around that corner and even strapped in, none of us are 100% safe on the roads.

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I hate to sound preachy.  I really do.  It goes against every fibre of my blogging-being.  But seriously, the one and only true thing of any value that we have, is our children.

And while none of us can guarantee their safety when we’re on the roads, we CAN guarantee it within our cars and thereby give them the best possible chance in the event of the unthinkable happening.

I’d rather put up with tantrums and fights than live with my self if anything happened my child while I am driving.  Because if you don’t strap them in, then it’s as much your fault as the other driver’s if they get hurt.

Stop it.

Strap them in and wise up.

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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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