I am So Here’s my Translation Mum

โ€‹Have a read at the extract from 1950 Home Economics Book below. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡

Then read my 2017 translation.๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ๐Ÿ˜ˆ
Have Dinner Ready.
Plan ahead, even the night before, to have some sort of food in the house for your family, possibly including your husband, not because you have been thinking about him or give a continental shite about his needs, but because YOU need food so he might as well get fed too.  Most men are hungry when they get home, but most men are well able to get their own feckin dinner, and make you some while they’re at it.
Prepare yourself
Take a 15 minutes rest if you can. Or, sneeze so your eyes close briefly.  Just make sure you remove the key from inside the front door so he doesn’t waken you with the doorbell as he lets himself into the house.

Your man should think you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even when you haven’t worn makeup for 5 days, stink like a badger’s arse and have forgotten what a razor looks like.  If he suggests putting a ribbon in your hair or spraying perfume, threaten to bobbit him with said ribbon, spray the perfume in his eyes and use a pointy stiletto to give his day a little lift. Smile gayly while doing so.  It’ll make his day more interesting and less boring.
Clear away the Clutter.
If you can make it from one end of the living room to the other without stepping on lego or tripping on a Paw Patrol weeble,  your house is perfect.  Tidying everything up before he gets home only leads to a false impression that the kids have NOT destroyed EVERYTHING on sight since 7am.  Reality is good.  The messier the house, the more chance there is that He will run you a bath, or pour you a gin, realising what kind of afternoon/day you must have had with his Holy Terrors.  Your Husband will probably not notice either way as he’ll be too busy answering very important emails or catching up on Bookface to give a crap.  If he wants a haven of rest and order, he can just give you a hand to lift everything off the floor.

Equal rights and all that.
Prepare the Children
Do try to wash the children’s hands and faces, if only to avoid spaghetti bolognese stains on your duvets. Do not attempt to comb hair in the evening, unless you are really in the mood for a screaming match.  Do not under any circumstances change their clothes.  Feck that. You’re just creating more washing for your bottomless basket. Actually, remove their clothes before dinner and cover them in bin bags. You might even get another day out of their outfits if you’re really clever.  They are his little treasures, so let him play the part. Piss off to the cinema with your mamma squad and let Him do bath time and bedtime. Let’s see how much clutter has been lifted by the time you get home eh?
Minimise all noise.
Scrap this.  Turn on all appliances before he arrives home, just to emphasise your absolute busy-mummy-ness, because unless he sees it being done, he often won’t realise it’s been done!  Let the children scream and shout at each other, turn up the Tellybox and any other devices and do not attempt to hush them.  Actually, if you are heading out shopping or to a sewing class, give them sugar before you leave. Greet him with a warm smile, be glad to see him and run out that fecking door as fast as your feet can carry you.
Some Don’ts
Don’t greet him with problems or complaints.  Wait until he is having his dinner and the kids are listening and casually remind him of what you’ve asked him 309 times to do already.

Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner. It’s him who’ll have to eat it cold, not you. Why give a hoot? Save complaintsnor ranting for after the kids have gone to bed, so you swear more effectively. Men love a passionate woman who knows her mind.  If his day can trump being covered in poonami, screamed at incessantly by a teething toddler or puked on 3 times, then in fairness, be nice.  And then tell him he needs to change jobs.
Make him comfortable.
Indeed, wait until he’s comfortable before telling him the bin needs to go out. Stomp about screaming “Fine then I’ll  do ot myself!” Until he gets up to do it…  If you catch him lying down in the bedroom while there are still children at large, throw a cold drink over him and tell him it’ll be hot next time. Threaten to arrange the pillow on his face while he is sleeping if he doesn’t get up RIGHT NOW to help with bedtime. Speak in low, soothing, threatening tones. It’s much more effective.  
Listen to him
You may have a list of things to tell him.  Write that list down so that you don’t forget all of the things, and then email, text and stick that list onto his forehead, before still having to repeat the same list tonorrow.  Wait until he has his coat off, or better still, catch him on the toilet. He has no escape from there.
Make the evening his
Fuck off 1950.
The Goal
Try to make your home a place where you can both manage to keep the children alive and teach them not to be completely feral and grumoy little shits, while (the odd time) having some down time together to remember that you actually do like each other.
Oh. And you can see why the man who wrote this was so anally retentive and ridiculous… there is no mention of sex anywhere.  ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

I am She’s Deadly Mum

Oh it’s been a deadly week.

Or even Deathly…โ˜นโ˜นโ˜น
โ˜นMonday:โ˜น
“Mammy why do people die?”

 (Fuckitty fuck…)

“Erm, they just do Darling.” (Yes… Even as I say it, I know THAT is not an answer and I need to follow it with something else.)  “Sometimes people’s bodies stop working and they die Darling.” 

(Not bad for off the top of my head as I navigate merging in the town’s spaghetti lanes of the one-way system that was possibly designed by a party of drunk monkeys.)

“But why? Why does they die?”

(Fuckitty fuckitty fuck…)

“Because that’s how it is pet.  Sometimes people get old or sick or something happens so they go to sleep for a very long time.”

(Silence.)

“And where do they go?”

(Christ on a stick. I’m so not ready for this. Note to self, find out who has been talking to her about dying.)

“Erm, they leave here and go to Heaven and then they can help look after us.”

“Awwwwwwwwwww yeah yeah yeah. Like Granda Pops?”

“Yes Darling.” (I love that she remembers my Pops.๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ’™)

“Aaaaaawwwwww yeah,  and like The Dinosaurs? They disappeared too you know?”

(Well that sentiment was nice while it lasted I suppose.๐Ÿ˜‚)

“Do you wanna listen to Frozen?”

“YAAAAAAAAAAY…LET IT GOOOOOOO!” 

Phew.
โ˜นTuesday:โ˜น
“What happens when EVERYONE in da whole world DIES?”

“That won’t happen Honey.”

“How do YOU know?” (It’s started already. My word is no longer gospel.)

“Because people will always grow up and have babies and then those babies will grow up and have more  babies.” (Unless Children of Men happens, in which case, we’re fooked.๐Ÿ˜‚)

But why come the dinosaurs stopped having babies and all went to Heaven? What if dat happens us? ” 

(Feck you Andy of the Adventuuuuuuures.)

“It won’t Sweetheart. Will we listen to Frozen?”

“Yaaaaaay!”

Etc…
โ˜นWednesday:โ˜น
“Gwanny are you old?”

“Well I suppose I’m a BIT old.”

“Dat means it’s nearly your turn to DIE YOU KNOW.”

Poor Gwanny. ๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜…๐Ÿ˜…
โ˜นThursday:โ˜น
Silence between school gate and car.

Sad face, shaky lower lip and one single tear.

“What’s up Darling?”

“Hemenahemena’s cousin died?”

(Oh fuckitty fuck fuck.  One of the kids must have had a death in the family…)

“Who’s cousin pet?”

Sobbing now…

“PRINCESS POPPY’S COUSIN!  Branch is DIED.”

(Oh you have GOT to be shitting me…)

“Branch from Trolls? How did he die? Sure he’s still in the movie, perfectly safe…”

“No. He got knocked down outside dacimena (the cinema) last night and he dieded!”

(FML)

“Ah pet. It’s ok.” I let her cry for a few minutes and then put on Frozen which eventually distracted her.

Then we got home and she opened her schoolbag and produces this. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡

The image apparently includes:

๐Ÿค Princess Poppy

๐Ÿค Branch lying dead outside Dacimenaโ˜น

๐Ÿค A scrapbook which Poppy is not allowed to scrap in anymore because Branch is dead (note the x through it.)

๐Ÿค a sad face with tears falling out (see close-up) ๐Ÿ˜‚

๐Ÿค a broken heart… literally… a heart with a crack on it.

I’m not sure whether I should be impressed or disturbed.  
โ˜นโ˜นโ˜นToday’s obituaries:โ˜นโ˜นโ˜น

“The death has taken place as the result of an accident outside the Dacimena of Mr Branch Troll. He is survived by Princess Fuckin Poppy Troll and a gang of big grumpy Berkins.  Removal from Dreamworks-in-the-tellybox, to repose in the imagination of Miss Mini-Me, with the fricken dinosaurs. Wake is private please as theres no actual fecking way to visit the remains of an imaginary dead troll os there? And internment will take place at some random point in the future when she remembers that hims dieded or when she decides to become obsessed by a different movie. No flowers please.  Donations in lieu to Mammy’s grapejuice fund.”

Pour.๐Ÿท

Now. 

๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

I am She’s Naming Babies Mum

โ€‹Is there ANYTHING more exciting and wonderful and joyful than hearing that one of your best buddies has just had a baby?
It puts EVERYONE in a good mood doesn’t it?  As the news of a birth filters through a room, even the crankiest face melts into a genuine smile and a little burst of love just radiates out of everyone, if only for a split second.  It’s one of those special feelings that if we could bottle, would be priceless.
Well, my friend had a perfect little Princess and she’s ADORABLE.  I’ve seen the photographs (and despite S-Mum being very happy with my 2.4 rascals, one of my ovaries MAY have done a little flip…just a small one mind you!๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚)  There’s something so incredibly heart warming and love inducing about that first snap of a beautiful, squishee, perfect little bundle. I can’t WAIT to go visit and get a squeeze.  ๐Ÿ˜‡๐Ÿ˜‡
So I pick up Mini-Me from school and as we’re getting into the car, I tell her the news.

(I’m changing the names because it’s not my news to share ๐Ÿ’š, but the conversation went like this…)
“Guess who got a new baby today?”

“Who?”

“Mary!”

“No waaaaaay?”

“Is it a boy baby or a gurl baby?”

“A little girl.”

“Does her have a name?”

“Yes! It’s Anna May.”

“Nooooooooooo! It’s NOT! You wing her wight now and tell her she got the wong name!”

“The wrong name?”

“Yes.  The Baby’s name is supposedabe Rosie.”

“Rosie?”

“Yes Mammy. ROSIE SPARKLES.”

“Rosie Sparkles is your fairy’s name Darling.”

OkAAAAAY then.  She can call her ROSIE SPARKLES Anna May then! Wing her now.”

“I will not.  She’s the baby’s Mammy and it’s HER job to give the baby a name and Anna May is a LOVELY name. Ok?”

Silence…

“Fine then.  Rosie Anna May then…”
I ask you… ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
And you know what? I have just text the Beautiful new Supermum to inform her of the change in her naming plans, because this little Madam will refuse point blank to call her anything other than fricken Rosie!   
It’s perfectly reasonable to let your friend’s Child name your baby after her Fairy isn’t it?  
Of course it is! ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

I am Some New Year’s Resolutions Mum

โ€‹My lazy self has decided that ACTUALLY, I probably should make a few New Year’s resolutions after all. ย 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.ย  Does this mean that I didn’t achieve my goals in 2017?ย  NO.ย  I kept everyone alove and well and kept my general sh*t between the ditches, didn’t I?ย  No.ย  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. ย Something foreign and exotic and sexy…Yeah. Actually, No. ย My arse. ย 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. ย 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” ย That shit bothers me.)

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

5. I will never raise my voice to my child. ย (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. ย (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. ย  (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. ย 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. ย 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.ย  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.ย  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!

I am Stupid Christmas Cards Mum

โ€‹Oh it’s time for Grapes…
Tonight, S-Mum did something really stupid…

Like, REEEEEEALLY fecking stupid!
“Would you like to write your Christmas Cards Mini-Me Dearest?”
I bought the cute little packet of cards weeks ago, thinking it would be so cute to let her write the cute little cards and give them to her cute little frineds.  And the first few cards were indeed cute.
After No. 4, she got bored.
By No.6, her writing had gone from “impressive” to “WTF?” 
By No.9., she’d decided she no longer needed the word “from”.
No.10 required 3 attempts because she feel out with the letter K and defaced each card in utter frustration.
Trying to write her teacher’s full name caused utter MELTDOWN at No.11 as it wouldn’t fit on the card width and so she now has the last 3 letters vertically down the side… (My eyes are bleeding… but there was more chance of Santa leaving Mammy a Chanel Handbag than there was starting THAT again!)
We eventually made it to No. 20something and she is now away to bed, only DELIGHTED with herself. ๐Ÿ˜…The cards are packed in her bag, ready for her to forget to give out tomorrow…
Mammy learned a few things also.๐Ÿ˜ˆ

These are:
1. I don’t know how to spell some names.

2. Some Mums may be offended at how I think their Minion’s name is actually written.

3. I know we have forgotten at least 6 names, given that there are not the same number of cards as kids in her class, but I am not psychic, nor do I remember names anyway, so I don’t really know how to get around that one.

4. The handwriting genius that I smugly THOUGHT I had here, is NOT ACTUALLY a Handwriting Genius.  In fact, as I opened some of the cards from her classmates this past week, my inner Soccer Mom was beginning to bubble and boil in a fucked up combination of jealousy and annoyance… “Why is her writing so neat? This one looks like one of my 5th years wrote it? Wtf is wrong with my Mini-Me?” Her lovely, and I thought accomplished, scrawl that I’ve proudly shown to Grannies and Aunties and anyone else who stands in front of me, in some cases looks like the signature of a shitfaced orangutan beside the BEAUTIFUL script of Miss Annabelle* or Master Simon*…(obviously I’m changing the names here!๐Ÿ˜‚)

5. I need to work on her handwriting.

6. I should really get a list of the class names from somewhere.

7. Some children have better handwriting than my daughter.

8. But I bet their Mums spent 3 weeks drafting and redrafting their cards with them.

9. Or maybe, the mums actually WROTE the cards, just making them look a bit messy ajd childlike to pass them off as the handwriting of their minion to make other Mums like me freak the fuck out.

10. It’s time for wine. ๐Ÿท๐Ÿท


How was your Chooseday?

Did you choose red or white? ๐Ÿ˜š๐Ÿ˜š๐Ÿ˜š