I am Some rules I’d make Mum đŸ˜…

​If I were Queen of the whole world (as opposed ro my own little corner), there are a few things I would change about Christmas…
1. Christmas on a weekend is a bit shit.  Why? Because for so many, it will come and go just like an ordinary bank holiday weekend.  Christmas needs to be on a Wednesday or some other such midweekday so that both the before and after working weeks are ridiculously short allowing everyone to get excited and bouncy and Christmassy from the Sunday before because it’s only a 2 day week and then it’s holiday time!

Because it’s a Sunday, we’re all trudging along this week asking “Are we there yet?” Most people will finish work on Friday evening and suddenly fricken Christmas Eve will be upon us faster than a baby’s poonami hits a clean nappy.
2. Only good drivers should be allowed on the road from the 21st until the 24th.  Because Christmas Eve this year is suddenly “Saturdayed”, the last minute panic (and for some, ALL their shopping) will have to be done on Saturday.  This would not be a huge problem if everyone knew how to DRIVE.  The town will inevitably stand still with non-moving cars and the special Dumbasses who the Grinch or some other Gremlin sends down from Dumbass Land, and who ONLY come out to drive on Christmas Eve and who test the patience of EVERYONE else by not using INDICATORS or knowing what a fucking YELLOW BOX is.  They are not even real people.  I think they’re like Matrix people who we can all SEE blocking the roundabout or taking 2 hours to reverse their corsa into two spaces, but they’re not ACTUALLY real… they can’t be.  That level of Dumbass doesn’t exist does it?


3. The shops should all close at 3pm on Christmas Eve.  Why? So that the creturs working in them get to GO HOME to their families of course! Be nice to retailers Ladybelles.  You might be stressed, but they’re still working. When I am queen, the whole world shall shut down early and Christmas shall be forced to begin at a decent hour.
4. Anyone who parks in a disabled spot or a parent spot without good reason or genuine need, should be zapped by a glitterfying lazer and beamed to a 1980s Tellybox set like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, where they shall have to stay until Boxing Day.  Better still, their CAR shoould be zapped away from them as they lock it so they can see just how fucking difficult it is to suddenly have an unnecessarily long distance to navigate a wheelchair or crutches or 3 screaming kids and 10 bags, just because they think they’re more special than the rest of the world.  Pricks. (Note…this applies all year round. 🤐)
5. Children and Hims should not be allowed to get sick before or during Christmas.  It’s hugely unfair on the Mamma Bears who are already trying to fit ALL THE EVERYTHING into their lunchbreaks and do the full grocery shopping in 8 minutes flat enroute to the school gate.  It is highly inconvenient and terribly upsetting when your minions suddenly feel poop at this time.  Of course it could always be worse… especially if your Him decides to do his annual Nutcracker rendition and act out the part of the useless and slightly tragic wooden soldier who needs something fucking magical to instill life and joy into his bones again.  Of course I’m not referring to my own Him here.  đŸ˜‡He is a Braveheartesque soldier at all times😲😲 and never succumbs to manflu or calls for his Mammy when his Her tells him to “man the fuck up.”
6. Cars will have a secret “other” boot.  This will stop the drama of “How the feck will I get the stuff that isn’t really there and can never be seen by little eyes into the house before they decide to open the boot to throw their schoolbags in?” Such a debachle!
7. All Mammies will be allowed to drink tea or grapes or gin as early as they like from the 20th.  Sorry…the 19th 😂😂 until at LEAST January 3rd.  This shall be law.

Oh and everyone shall smile always, and wear big hats (which will ALL be made XL to fit humongously craniumed wenches like S-Mum) and we shall all be lovely to each other and sparkle like glittery unicorns because tis the fricken season and all that.
How was your day?

Are we there yet? 🎄🎅🦄🎄🍷🎅🎄🦄🍷🎅🎄❄⛄🎄🎅🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

I am Some things I never knew Mum


​Things that no one tells a soon to be Mamma.

Please be aware that this is a NHB  (No holding back) post which may contain TMI for some readers! 😂😂

If you read this and wish you hadn’t, too bad really… But you can’t say you weren’t warned!

The Early Days

1. The first visitors to the hospital will be a blur. I was so out of it on adrenaline and whatever horse tranquilisers they’d given me that my first visitors still talk about how “great” I was… And yet I don’t remember a thing about the first day!

If you have other kids, manipulating the visitors so that your kids and then Grandparents are first in, is a military operation!   Hopefully it will only be your nearest and dearest who come along initially.

Most people are good at knowing that it’s best to wait until Mamma is settled at home before they visit.  There are no rules of course, but in my little rule book, only go to the hospital if it’s one of your closest friends or a close family member.

2. The interruptions:  You’ll just have drifted off to snooze after finally getting your little one to nod off and the door of the ward shall swing open and in comes “The Beeper”.

The Beeper is the little Blood Pressure monitor and fancy trolley the lovely nurses push from ward to ward to make sure you and baby are doing OK.  It looks like Johnny 5 and has a habit of appearing at the most inconvenient times.

Don’t get me wrong.  The nurses have a schedule and have to do their rounds and it’s all in your best interest, but you will learn to loath the Beeper.  But it’s only for a few days and it makes going home to your own bed all the sweeter.

3. Your first toilet trip:  With Mini-Me, I read all the books.  ALL of them! My Darling mother happily answered my questions with brutal honesty.  When I found out I’d be having her by section, my amazing friend told me all about hers in her colourful language.

Having grown up on a farm and having helped out, hands on I might add, with MANY C-Sections on Cows, I felt quite prepared.  I put my faith, my trust and my vulnerable self in the care of the surgeons and all was right with the world.

But NO ONE prepared me for the first toilet trip…when you go for your first pee, apparently it’s normal to feel like you’re being sliced open again without anaesthetic this time!  I swear to God, I thought I was going to die right there on the loo.  It was not pretty.  The pain almost made me puke.

And as if that wasn’t terrifying enough, the first poo is fecking horrendous!  I have it on good authority that it is the same for Mummies who deliver vaginally.  Again, I thought my entire insides were falling out.

I roared so loudly that The Him actually called for a nurse and she had to come in to convince me that no, I hadn’t just passed my bowel and no,  I wasn’t going to die.  But don’t tell anyone.  How undignified and ridiculous right?

4. The Boobs:  Now, for me, this was a big deal.  And I mean Big in every sense of the word.  As a woman of the Fried egg club, to wake up on day three with two bald heads in my bra, was quite the trauma.  I swear to God I looked like Jordan.  I’ve always wondered if I’d like to have boobs… No.  No I wouldn’t .  Thank you.  No. Give me my fried eggs any day.

5. The journey home:  My memory of this one still makes me laugh.  The walk from the ward to the car with your lovely car seat is one of the most surreal experiences of your life.  I hadn’t stepped more than 6 foot to the bathroom in 4 days.

Suddenly I had to waddle my way down corridors, into lifts (oooooh that bump takes on a whole new level of weirdness after a section!), through a lobby (carrying balloons to boot!) and out into the car. It was like running 20feet and then thinking you’re ready for a marathon the next day.

Daddy is grinning like a Cheshire cat while you shall be torn between scolding him for swinging the seat too much when he walks, and holding your ladybits in because they feel like they are about to fall the hell out of you with every step!

Getting into the car is a challenge and then there’s the drive home.  I dare say The Him didn’t go above 40mph the whole way out to the house, because of the precious cargo and of course because of my delicate state.  We both give out about Dooters on the road, but Oh my did he dooter out the road that day!

6. The tears:  Oh tears.  You unpredictable little feckers… They come in waves.  You have NO control over them.  They’ll arrive at the worst times.  And you’ll possibly laugh at the same time because you will have no idea why the hell you’re crying!  But let them flow.  It’s completely normal! I’m still crying over anything and my Baby is 1!

7. The Visitors: While you’ll want nothing more than to see people and introduce your new bundle to your loved ones, bear in mind that your first day or two at home will be exhausting, emotional and terrifying.  If I had been able to pay the midwives to come home with me, I would have.  I remember getting to the house with The Him and the Car seat and being soooooo frightened.  There was no buzzer.  There were no nurses down the hall.  It was just us.  But we were fine.

8. Newborns are actually much more interesting than you ever thought they were.  But here’s the key.  YOUR newborn is interesting. To YOU and your partner .  Don’t be offended if your visitors only start at the baby for a few minutes.  Yes of course they’re interested and of course they’ll think your baby is gorgeous, but while you can watch this little person doing NOTHING for hours on end, to others, it is exactly that…a little person doing nothing!

They don’t see the miraculous progression from yesterday, or that the baby is holding your focus for a few moments longer… or that her grip seems more purposeful.  So don’t get offended that your friends seem to politely stare at the baby for only a few minutes, declaring his cuteness or that she has your eyes, before moving promptly on to some other topic of conversation.  It’s normal.

And be honest, you’ve probably done it yourself many times. Because other people’s babies are not that interesting are they?

9. Lasagne can make you cry:  The gifts and parcels and flowers will come and be hugely appreciated. But the most welcomed and remembered offering to the home of the newborn…is food!  And the best kind of food is something that can be portioned, reheated, frozen or even eaten cold from the casserole dish.  Think curry. Think chilli. Think lasagne.  You never realised how good lasagne tastes.  It’ll make you so happy that may cry tears of joy.

10. You suddenly won’t care who washes your knickers:  Maybe this was just me.  Before I had Mini-Me, the thought of someone else doing my washing would have driven me mad with shame.  Not because there’s anything wrong with my smalls, No!  But I could never have even entertained the thought of my Mum or Mother-in-Law washing them.  And then I got over that VERY quickly. Because the first time I realised that the washing machine was going without me having started it, my initial panic was so overwhelmed by total gratitude that I even surprised myself.  Now, I still don’t like the idea of someone washing my knickers, but for the first few weeks after birth, you really shouldn’t give a damn.

So now you’re home. And you could probably add 10 more things to this list.  Add away Supermums.

I am She’s One Mum

​It’s here.  
Princess will turn one tomorrow.  

One.

12 whole months…

365 days…

1 funfilled amazing year has passed since her chubby little self bounced into our world.  Well, I say “bounced”… she didn’t bounce, but I did as the amazing surgeons tugged and pulled and lifted her out my sunroof! 😂 
But arrive she did. And as with the arrival of any little one, our lives have been changed utterly.
I’m a bit gobsmacked at how quickly the year has gone. 

I’m sitting looking at her wee party shoes 👇👇👇and I’m really not sure how I feel if I’m honest.


 It’s like I’ve blinked and she’s suddenly transformed from a chubby cheeked helpless new baby into a standing-alone, scoffy-laughing, Rambo-Hulk whose smile lights up the room and who has “Mischief” written all over her.
When Mini-Me turned one, we felt a huge sense of achievement.  We’d made it to ONE! We were fecking awesome! We were no longer NEW parents… We rocked!
With Princess, it’s more like a sense of Survival. 😂😂Because, we’ve done it! We’ve survived a year of being parents to TWO rascals! And although it’s wonderfully fun, it isn’t always easy.
Even now, as I’m preparing for her wee party tomorrow, I’m very aware of how much I’ve overcome as a new Mammy of 2 in the past year: from figuring out how to manoeuvre carseats up stairs while holding a toddler’s hand, to negotiations with said toddler when Baby required attention than she did, from figuring out two bedtimes in one routine, to managing to give both of them all my love and time… 
And it hasn’t been easy.

In the words of one of my colleagues, I try very hard to keep it all “between the ditches”.  Sometimes, I feel like I’m steering 14 cars at the one time. 😣
And yet, despite sharing MANY of my #mammyfails and #feckitupFridays on here, people still think I have my shit together.
I don’t.

Not one bit! 
I’m not Supermum.

I’m far from it.
I’m so far FROM it sometimes that I wonder how the hell I’m even going to make it to bedtime without banging my head off the wall.
I’m so far from it that even today, after the lovely job of buying Princess a pretty dress for tomorrow, I stood outside the shop on the phone to my husband telling him that I was “shitty mum”. 

 Why? 

Because both Me AND Mini-Me went off to school this morning upset and in tears. 

Because we’re both bad-tempered volatile little women, and Mammy needs to cop herself on and chose her battles.

Because I’m a human. I’m flawed and I’m sometimes fecking useless.
So there.
Yes, tomorrow we’ll have a lovely party to celebrate the first birthday of my precious little Fudgeybum. And we’ll enjoy every second of it.
The photos will hopefully capture the joyful celebration, but while some bloggers like to, or need to, pretend that their lives are perfect ALL the fecking time, I’m more than happy to admit that behind the smiles and photographs, some days are hard and some days are downright shite.
And EVERY Mammy needs to be able to say that out loud WITHOUT feeling weak for saying it…
To admit that it’s not all ok all the time.
To have another Mammy tell us “I do that too.” or “You should have been in MY house this morning!” (Words of another colleague who met my snivelling self in the carpark this morning. They’re a wonderful bunch my workmates.💙💗💙)
To admit that sometimes, the only shit we have together is the one floating in the unflushed toilet in your dirty bathroom… and that’s OK, because it WILL get flushed…eventually…briefly! 😅
But when the days are wonderful and when life is good enough to give us celebrations and blessings, put on your glittery shoes and enjoy them.
And take pictures and videos.

And try to be IN some of them too! 😎😉
Now, I need to scrape the blu-tack out of the dress Mini-Me wants to wear tomorrow and mop the floors so none of the other children catch Mad Cow disease off them.  And then, I’m going to have a bath, because I haven’t heated up today.  I’ve been freezing since 8am!

(Might have something to do with the fact that I got everyone else out the door warm and dressed this morning, but forgot my own coat!)
MammaBears eh? Who’d have us? 

Happy Friday Ladybelles.

😙😙😙😙

I am Soooo Mammarella Mum đŸ˜‚

​Cinderella.  

You all know her.
The dolly who is a COMPLETE skivvy to everyone in her house and who gets a chance to go to the ball,  but has NO hope of going because of her fecking  To-do list and the constant pile of laundrey and sewing and cleaning and crap that grows and grows and grows, until her Fairy Godmother appears and BibbityBobbetyBoos her ass all the way to the ball.
Cinderella.
Well. Let me introduce you to the modern age Cinderella… 

MAMMARELLA.
The modern generation of Queens who sometimes get a chance to go to a fancy ball, but who wonder HOW THE HELL it’s going to happen because of the same reasons as Cinderella…being general skivvies, having to organise EVERYONE else in the house beforehand, and fecking  to-do lists that would knock poor Cinders off her glass slippers. 
On Monday, knowing that we had a super busy week ahead, but happy that it was going to end at a wonderfully glamorous affair, I took a breath and it was all systems go! 
THIS Mammarella however,  ain’t got no Fairy Godmother and so rather than being magically BibbityBobbetyBood from a pumpkin to a Princess, I had to cram a combination of grooming appointments and general maintenance, like you know, showering etc…into my already STUPID schedule.  
Do it I did,  with the help of my own fairies, and I EVEN managed to get my arse mahogonised in a spray booth.  
On Friday morning at 6am, I WAS Cindafuckinrella. 😂

 My To-do list was RIDICULOUS, because as well as making myself appear at the ball looking ALIVE, never mind FABLIS, I ALSO had to sort the minions, make a bed for the Granny, go to my JOB, fit in two meetings cook dinner for everyone else, write out baby routines, and keep everyone alive, pack bags and get to the hairdresser by 5pm….
The day was a whirlwind.

But we got there.

I put lines through that To-do list like an ugly sister on rollerblades.
And when I FINALLY got to the hairdresser, she used magic potions and lotions and turned me from sweaty, dishevelled, skivvy into a slightly #glammymammy. 
I got to the hotel, after being stuck in the most hilarious traffic ever, with ten minutes to spare, titsickle-taped myself into the dress and I was finally ready to go be a Princess.  
And The Him??
How did HE transform himself from a gym-gear wearing servantboy into a Handsome Prince?
He left work, took a shower, stuck on a tux that someone HANDED to him in a bag, and Bibbity Bobbity Boo! Turns into James Fecking Bond… 😲😲😂

But then he won and after all, he WAS the reason I got to pretend to be a Princess for a night wasn’t he?
Actually, Princess my arse… this Mamma Bear was a Queen for the evening. 

😂😂😂
So yes, Mammarellas.

Cinderella doesn’t have a CLUE! 😂😂😂
Wait until she has 2 minions and a Him to get out the door! 😙

​Sudocrem and last-minute-Mother-of-the-feckin-year mum

When Mini-Me started school, 2 months ago, I was determined to be Mother of the year.

No missed buses.

No forgotten lunches.

No homework at 8am.

No forgetting to wash school cardigan and having to lie that it’s in Daddy’s car…

No last minute projects. 😲
I would be Super Organised, Super slick, SuperMum…
2 LONG MONTHS LATER, my shit has ALL gone to shit.😂
Today, at her first PTM,  I hear the word “shoebox” being mentioned over the intercom…

And I had an awful realisation, right in front of the lovely teacher…
“She’ll have her shoebox in in the morning” I stammered…

Yeah Missy.  She sees right through you!
Shit shit shit shit shit…
Actually, if I’m honest, the growing pile of multicoloured Christmas shoeboxes taking over our own secretary’s office at work, has been subtly shouting at my subconscious all week that I must check something.  I have vague recollections of a brochure being taken from the school bag, like, yesterday (cough…no it wasn’t 3 weeks ago.  How very dare you..)
I get home and find the brochure. 

Final date 11th November. 😣😣
Fuck.
I COULD just leave it, and donate somsthing and not feel bad, but then Mini-Me will be in school knowing that Mammy is a toolbox.

😣

(And considering that she is already of this opinion, accusing me DAILY of losing an invitation from a classmate last month that APPARENTLY was in her bag but disappeared, even though I’m CERTAIN that the only invitation I took put of her bag was for her Cousin’s party, which I dumped because I already KNEW when the party was and it was OBVIOUS that she’d simply taken it to school like she does EVERYTHING… And it’s obviously just a COINCIDENCE that they have the same first names and she PROBABLY wasn’t ACTUALLY invited to the friend’s party so therefore didn’t miss anything because Mammy is a Toolbox really…) 😣😣😣
I digress.
Anyhooo. 
No. I can’t just leave it.  That would be terrible.
 So, I get my arse to work finding new or unused lovely things to put in, send The Him a text warning him NOT TO COME HOME without kiddie toothpaste and toothbrush and a pack of socks for aged 6.

Oh! 

And Christmas wrapping paper!
So it’s done. 😆

We doood it!


It was fine and we got to have very lovely conversations about how lucky she is ajd how it’s kind to share etc…

And I do love the concept of the project.  In fact, next year, I’m going to start the second the brochure arrives and we’re going to do LOADS of shoeboxes and I will be Supermum again… for 5 minutes.

My biggest difficulty tonight was getting the fecking sellotape off the roll with my lovely Cindafuckinrella nails that I got done yesterday for tomorrow’s ball…

Aren’t they lovely?

Note to self…

Lovely acrylic extension nails may look lovely, but changing shitty nappies and applying sudocrem suddenly becomes quite the adventure… 👇👇👇👇