Tag Archives: parenting

I am So Smug Mum

Posted in children, family, parenting, toddlers by

So tonight, I am So Smug Mum.

Like, soooooo smug.

Why?
Because tomorrow, Mini-Me turns four and I will no longer be the mother of a Threenager!

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When the sun rises tomorrow, it will mark a new phase in our family’s life. 

Gone will be the irrational, illogical, utterly terrifying (and slightly demonic!) three year old.
Instead, from the bedroom will emerge a calm, sweet and reasonable little four year old.

Mini-Me will be four.  As she told me today, when she’s four, she’ll be able to touch the roof because she’ll be so grown up.

The tantrums will end.
The screaming will cease.  (Mine too!)
Her moods will become more predictable and she’ll become more logical and rational.
I will have the bestest little buddy that a daughter becomes.  Obviously, she’s my best buddy already, but the love and ability to appreciate each other’s company will be mutual from tomorrow…obviously!

Because the Threenager will have left the building!
And I will have survived the “Terrible Twos” AND the “Tantrumesque Threes”.
So therefore, tonight, I raise my glass of red juice and say, quite happily, that I am indeed So Smug Mum!

See you on the other side S-Mummies!

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I am So-Smug Mum

I am SeelaSalaaCassello-Mum!

“SeelaSalaaCassello
SeelaSalaaCassello
SeelaSalaaCasselloooooooo
And so say all of us!”

This is what Mini-Me sings EVERY time she finishes singing “Happy Beffday”.
It’s completely ridiculous, but so cute that I don’t have the heart to correct her.  In fact, on Friday last, while her Aunty blew out her candles, everyone started to sing Mini-Me’s version of the song.  I have a feeling that it will be one of those things that will haunt her into adulthood.

And it got me thinking.  Why do we automatically correct some mistakes, while accepting others?
Why do I think it’s okay for her to change the entire lyric of a song, but yet when she says “Where is her?”, I immediately correct her with “Where is she!”?

It’s not like my own speech is perfect.
I sometimes talk really quickly.
Like, really quickly.
Or so I’m told.

I’m always aware that I need to slow down, especially if I’m speaking to someone new.
It can be full speed ahead, to the point that if you’re not from lovely Donegal, there’s a good chance that you’re smiling politely at me, but you’ve no idea what I’m saying.

Why do I do this?
I have no idea.

I do make an effort to slow down obviously, but if I’m nervous or excited, I speed up dramatically.
If I’m excited and I’ve had coffee, I go to superspeed.
If I’m excited and I’ve had wine, well you had better buckle up and try to keep up!

As an English teacher, I am constantly aware of the mistakes that we make in our everyday speech.  Indeed, outside of the classroom, I am happily able to slip into the colloquial dialect of my hometown.   I don’t apologise for it.

I’m am however, that person who is silently correcting your grammar.  I don’t mean any harm.  It’s my job I suppose.

When people mispronounce words, I cringe.  (I had a meeting once with a lovely lady who loved the word “specific”, but who pronounced it “pacific”.)
When my students make the (very Donegal)  mistake of “I seen him down the town,” I have been known to start singing “See-Saw, See-Saw, See-Saw!!!!!” at them.

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I want to throw people who like, say “like”, like a lot, out the like window.

So of course I try to teach my own girls to speak properly.

I find myself using the phrases “Slow down” or “Let me hear your words please” with Mini-Me quite frequently of late.

Her speech is generally very good.  It’s never been a cause for concern for me.
She drives my brother crazy saying “Lellow“.  He once spent 20 minutes teaching her “Ye-Ye-Yellow.”  She proudly ended the lesson with “Ye-Ye-Lellow!”
Everything is “Bery” good and she wears a “best” instead of a vest.
I don’t stress.  She’s three… (or free!).

She lost her first tooth last week and for a few days, her newly acquired lisp provided great entertainment to the adults in her life.  Of course, we didn’t make her aware of the humour she was providing to us, but we had a little chuckle at the cuteness among ourselves.  It passed after only a few days.

But it got me thinking.
Over the past week, I’ve found myself paying attention to the little words she mispronounces or gets completely wrong.  And where I would usually automatically say the word correctly to her straight away, I’m trying to remember them.
She’s growing up so quickly and as she proceeds through the school system, those little mistakes will be rectified by her well-intentioned teachers.

Instead, when she announces that she wants another “escapode” of Peppa Pig, I smile and enjoy the fact that she’s can even try to say that word!

And for now, when she has the confidence to stand in front of a room full of people and sing “Seeeela Saalla Casello!” At the top of her voice, I let her.
(How “She’s a jolly good fellow” became “Seeeela Saalla Casello!”, I will never know).
But it is hilarious. It’s cute. It won’t last forever.

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(Sometimes however,  we must correct.
Like yesterday when she bumped her elbow and screamed “You hurt my Booobeeeee!”, I HAD to correct her.
I’m not even going to try to understand how she got those two particular body parts mixed up, but she did.)

Because she’s three.
And for  “Seeeela Saalla Casello!” And so say all of us!

I am  “SeeeelaSaallaCasello-Mum”. 😅

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I am Shake-a-bootay Mum

Posted in children, tantrums, toddlers by

On Saturday, I took Mini-Me on what was intended to be the perfect Mother & Daughter day out.
With the recent arrival of her Little Sister, some quality-time was badly needed.  As it turned out, it was more needed by Mummy than by Daughter.

The day was planned out in detail.  We’d been talking about it all week.

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We would go to the hairdresser, then to the shops.
Mini-Me would have sausages and chips; we’d collect the balloons for Princess’s Christening lunch.
Mummy would have coffee in her favourite coffee shop while Mini-Me would sip milk from a cute little milk bottle with a stripy straw.
We’d chitter and chatter, hold hands and skip from shop to shop.
It would be calm, relaxed and blissful.
We would take selfies that wouldn’t look out of place in a glossy mag.
Other mummies would look at us, in our matching coats, and think “Aaaawwww!”

And when it was over, we’d go home to Daddy and Princess and tell them all about Mammy and Mini-Me’s Day of Fun!

What actually happened was that a PMS-Crazed, sleep deprived Mummy took a post-chest-infection, over-tired Threenager into town…in the rain.

AND, there was a full moon…actually there were two.

Said Threenager began her tirade of strops and tantrums in the hairdresser. The angelic Hairdresser managed to trim her hair while I had mine blow-dried.  When she began to protest because she wasn’t allowed to take a toy home from the basket of distractions in the corner, I was hugely grateful that the hairdresser intervened before I had to. She received the quite terrifying dirty looks that only my daughter can throw, but as with all toddlers, fighting with a stranger is no fun, so she conceded.
Only slightly embarrassed, we left, with Mini-Me promising she’d be good for the rest of the day.

She did have sausage and chips… which she ate while glaring at me because I’d committed the crime of stealing a chip.  (I was actually making sure that they weren’t too hot.  Next time, I’ll let her find out for herself will I? NO.  I probably won’t.)

We went to collect the balloons, only to be told that the helium machine had broken before they started my order.   Having no balloons for the christening lunch REALLY wasn’t a drama.  Turns out… trying to leave the shop without balloons, really was a drama. Who knew?  (In hindsight, I’m quite proud that I didn’t give in and buy her a balloon.  Trust me…life would have been easier, but I couldn’t buy treats after the previous strops!)

I didn’t get the yummy coffee in my favourite cafe… their water was off.  Granted, it was a bigger problem for the establishment than for me, but still.  At this point, I imagined myself throwing a tantrum to see how she’d react.  I didn’t.   Instead, we went to a different cafe and I sipped on a crappy cappuccino.

I’d put crayons and a mini colouring pad into my handbag.  She should have coloured in happily while I enjoyed my cuppa.  The first crayon broke. The second one fell under the table and somehow disappeared.  The Threenager refused to drink her hot chocolate until I told her that that made me happy because I’d drink it after my coffee.
I got 30 seconds of quiet time while she made sure Mammy couldn’t have it…
She drank it in one go.

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I stared ahead, praying that the smell of the coffee would calm me down, cursing the full moon (I swear by this by the way!) and wondering if 4pm was too early to think about a glass of wine.

At this point, Hubby rang.  I should really have listened to him and gone home there and then, but I had to pop into one other shop to return a dress.
Big mistake.
Huge.

I was flicking through a rail of dresses to find my size.  Mini-me was at my side, humming to herself.
She stopped humming.
I glanced down to her.
Instead of her cheeky but adorable face, I saw her bare backside… wiggling in the air at me.
She sang “Shake-a-bootay! ” as she shook it.

Full moon.

Total eclipse.

I actually screamed.
My response was to pull up her tights and knickers and to fix her skirt, frantically whispering “You CANNOT do that!”
And then I left the shop, with Skinny Arse running behind me.  I kept walking until I reached the car.  All the while, Mini-Me was at my heels, repeating “Mammy? Mammy?”  She was undecided as to whether she should be crying or throwing a tantrum.  Her Threeness was suspicious of my lack of scolding.  I think she was experiencing that fear that we all remember from when we were kids and Mother gave us the look.

In reality, I was mortified.  I was annoyed that I’d taken my eyes off her long enough for her to commit the offence…and I was trying not to let her see me laughing!

As I strapped her in to her car seat, I asked her why she’d pulled down her tights in the shop.
Her answer?
“I just quite did.”
And that’s as good as I’m going to get.

We drove home.
It was getting dark.
There was a full moon.

Another one.
This time, in the sky.
And it turns out, it wasn’t too early to think about wine.
When Hubby heard about our lunar fiasco, he opened the bottle for me!

I am Shake-a-bootay Mum

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Or on Twitter @Maria_Rushe  ☺

I am Snaughling Mum.

Posted in children, teacher, toddlers by

Snaughling…

Laughing so hard that you snort…then laughing that you snorted.
Snorting is for pigs, but sometimes, it happens to the best of us!

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It isn’t the most gracious or ladylike thing to do, yet yesterday, I did it…in public.

So proud of myself was I after Wednesday’s achievement of getting Mini-Me to school, that I began to feel in control of things.  You know?  This Yummy Mummy was in charge again.  I was no longer recovering from “the Section”. I was fully recovered.  Fully.  Physically and mentally.  Completely and utterly in charge of my world again.  Well,  I thought I was.

Yesterday morning, leaving Princess snoring on top of Daddy, I dropped Mini-me to school again (Yay me!!) and went into town to run a few errands.
By 11.45am, I’d ticked off the to-do list, brought coffee home to Hubby, squeezed in a 2km power walk, grabbed a quick shower and had my eyebrows waxed!  The sun was shining.  It truly was a beautiful day, and I was indeed Supermum.

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I drove back to the school to lift Mini-me at mid-day, full of the joys of January.  On days like these,  “I have Confidence in me” from The Sound of Music often pops into my head, and so I was singing to Princess (as loudly as only the privacy of your car allows) as I drove.

Pulling into the car park, I saw that the class were in the Playground.  Double Yay!  I was now able to drive up to the gate and collect Mini-me without having to disturb Princess, who was somehow sleeping despite the noise of my singing.

I stepped…no bounced…out of the car and waved at Mini-Me.  Her little face lit up and she ran towards me, with a face full of happiness, shouting gleefullly “Maaaaaaaaammeeeeeee!!”

Screw The Sound of Music… this was a Little House on the bloody Prairie moment.  All was right with the world.

And then.

I was greeted by Mini-me’s teacher.  She’s chirpy and lovely in that infectious way that only a pre-school teacher can be.  She was smiling at me.  Yes.  A little more than usual.

“Hi there!” she said.  Were her lips twitching at the corners?
“Hi!  How was she today?”  I was obviously paranoid.
“Great!  No bother!”  I swear she’s trying not to laugh.

She puts her hand into her coat pocket, pulling out a little plastic bag.
I recognise the bag as the reserved for soiled pants type and think “Oh crap.  She’s had a wee accident.”  And I simultaneously remember that I forgot to put a spare pair in her bag.  I’m expecting the “We had a wee accident.  It’s OK, we found a spare pair in her drawer” line.

Instead I get  “Did you dress her in the dark this morning?”  Yup.  She’s laughing.  I’m not paranoid.

“No?  Why?”  My brain is now whizzing back through my perfect and productive Supermumesque morning.  I’m replaying the dressing of the child and nothing is standing out to me as unusual.  It was all pretty calm actually.

“She was wearing two pairs of pants!” laughs teacher, handing me the little plastic bag.

What?  How was she wearing two pairs of pants?  That’s just ridiculous.
But then Mini-me looks up at me and squeels “I had TWO pants on my butt.  Silly Mammy!”   She’s delighted with herself.

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I’m horrified.  This is not the kind of thing that I do.  I’m in charge.  I’m sensible.  I’m completely organised thank you!

I feel my face turning pink.  My full face now matches the two strips of pink on my freshly plucked eye-brows.
I look at Teacher, who is now giggling unapologetically…As is her colleague who has been cleaning a little boy’s nose beside us.

This is one of those moments that you read about in novels.  It’s the type of moment that you cringe at; that makes you laugh at the silliness of the poor Mum, safe in the knowledge that it’ll never happen to you!

I was wondering how the hell to react, but before my brain could send a sensible reaction signal to the rest of my mortified body, I snaughled.

I threw my head back and laughed; then I snorted; then I laughed some more.
Teachers were laughing.
Mini Me was laughing.
I had spontaneously combusted and the embarrassment subsided as the hillarity of the situation became clear.
“At least her bottom was warm!”  I managed.

I put the offending plastic bag in my pocket, said Goodbye to the teachers and set Mini-me into her carseat.
I vowed that I’ll have my coffee before I dress her in future.
It’s not a big deal.  It’s hilarious.  And at least the teachers were able to say it to me, rather than laugh about me behind my back.  At least I didn’t send her out without pants!

There’s no greater feeling than a good laugh.  And it’s even more refreshing when it’s completely at yourself!  Even if I did snort!

And this little Piggy snaughled…all the way home.

I am Snaughling-Mum.  xx

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I am Silly-Serious-Worries Mum

Posted in children, parenting, terror by

So today, I did it!

Even the thought of it has been freaking me out for the past 7 weeks.  I’ve actually had nightmares about it.  I hardly slept last night, knowing that it was ahead of me this morning…but I did it.

I did the playschool run.
ALL BY MYSELF!
With the toddler AND a newborn.
And I survived.

Sound silly? 
Maybe, but I’m guessing that the majority of parents reading this can empathise.

So how does something as trivial as doing a school run become such an issue?
Because although it’s a Silly worry, it’s still a worry.
It’s my worry and it grows as much as I let it. 

It’s a little seed that was planted in my brain one morning pre-Princess, and over the past 9 weeks, it has blossomed into quite the little weed.

I was dropping Mini-me off as usual.   The staircase to her classroom is narrow and an unspoken one-way system exists among the parents who navigate it each day.
I waited (impatiently) for her to manouvre her skinny bum up the steps; painfully aware of the not-very-well disguised frustration of the other Mummy who was forced to wait at the top for Mini-me (and her 64 month pregnant mother) to get out of her way. 

We finally reached the summit and Other Mother responded to my apologies with an overly-zealous and high-pitched “Don’t be silly!! It’s not easy, is it?”

“No it isn’t!” I laughed, thinking to myself how I couldn’t wait to not have to carry this bump up the steps every morning.

And then it hit me.

In place of the bump, will be a baby…in a car seat.
And that was the actual second that the silly-serious worries began.

How the hell am I going to do this with a new baby?
How will I get Mini-me to school, on time, 5 mornings a week…with a new baby?
How will we get out the door if Baby needs a feed…or poops…or is crying…or is sick?
What if I can’t get parked near the door?
What if it’s raining?
I can’t leave the Baby in the car can I?  Of course not!
How will I manage to get up and down those stairs with a car seat and a futtering toddler? 
What if I fall?
What if Mini-me falls and I can’t lift her?
What if someone sneeezes on the baby?
What if…

I could go on.

I’m usually quite in control of my worries.  I don’t tend to overthink things or waste energy on worrying about the hypothetical.  My Dad always told me “99% of the things you worry about, never happen.”
It took me approximately 25 years to realise this.
Life instantly became easier.

I’m quite a confident person.  I stand in front of hundreds of teenagers each day and teach them Shakespeare for crying out loud!  So how is it that getting my toddler to pre-school could become such a bloody issue?

Because I’m still hormonal after recent birth?
Because I’m losing my mind?
Because I’m having a confidence crisis?

No.
It’s because I’m a parent.

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What no one tells you before you enter this wonderful time in your life, is that all of your rational reasoning and good sense go on holiday when Baby arrives… and I’m not sure they ever return.

Every parent has ridiculous, irrational fears.  Over the past few days, with both kiddies being sick, I’ve realised that these fears are EXTRA vivid at 4am.

The headcold is pneumonia.
The heat rash is something tropical.
The sound outside is obviously a burglar.
The first trip to playschool tomorrow morning is going to be a disaster.

And then, it’s not.

We got up.  We got dressed.  I fed both of them.  (I even fed the dog!) I drank a cup of coffee.  I got Newborn into the carseat.  I strapped Mini-me into hers.  I remembered to lock the house.  I remembered how to drive the car.  (Six weeks sans Steering wheel is not fun!)  I remembered how to get to the school.  I got parked at the door of the school.  It wasn’t raining!

I got to the foot of the dreaded staircase.

And do you know what I did then?
I put one foot in front of the other, and I climbed it.  (Granted I still had to encourage Skinny-bum to hurry along, but climb it we did.)
And when I got to the top, I deposited said Skinny-bum into the arms of her lovely teacher; I turned around and I returned to my car.
I survived.

And then I went shopping! (because having only one kid with me didn’t feature as a problem.  It’s only the situations where I have to do things with two for the first time that are causing me these Silly-Serious worries.  See how logical I am?!!)

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This morning was the silliest thing in the world to be worried about, but to me, it was a serious worry. 
And that’s the key.
If it was worrying me, it was valid.  Silly or not, it was a worry. 

And the reason that parents worry about such seemingly silly things, is to allow us to be prepared.  Worrying and over-thinking things allows us to envisage all eventualities…and then, because we’ve already dealt with the outcomes, (even the worst possible ones!), we can handle whatever is thrown at us.

Every silly worry is serious.
Every worry is a staircase.
The longer we stand looking at the stairs, the more challenging they become.
But if you take each step as it comes, the top isn’t as far away as you thought.

Next, I have to figure out how to do the grocery shopping with both of the them with me.
I’m just going to look at that particulay staircase a little while longer.
I’m not quite there yet!

I am Silly-Serious-Worries Mum.

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