I am So I’m a Career Mum (again)

Rejoice! Rejoice!

It is Friyay…the FIRST Friyay after a FULL week of school and work and routine. And we have all survived. (albeit just about, but survived we have.πŸ˜‚)
We may be frazzled and fooked Mammies, but still we must find the energy to REJOICE in the Fact that we have made it to the MOST wonderful evening of the week. πŸ˜†

This week, after two years of maternity leave, unpaid leave and jobsharing, I have finally dipped my toe back into the world of being a Full-time Mammy with a full-time Job. What have I learned? Nothing. But I have remembered MANY things; Things that I had battered down, suffocated and locked in a tattered old box at the back of the memory part of my subconscious, but which now bounce back to the forefront of my ridiculously tired little mind. 😐

Tired Children:

Tired children are cranky.
Tired children like to find a reason, ANY reason, to cry.
Tired children do not KNOW that they are tired.
Tired children refuse to admit that they are tired.πŸ˜₯
Tired children will bite one another.😠
Tired children do not like to go to their beds, regardless of how tired they are.
Tired children like to wake up at 2am and play with their toys, with the light on, noisily enough to waken everyone so that they have someone to tell that they are NOT tired.
Tired children do NOT like to get dressed in the morning.
Tired children do NOT like it when you bounce into their bedrooms at 7am singing β€œGood Morning, Good Moooooooorning!, opening curtains and declaring that it is time for school. (Especially the not tired children who have been up half the night playing with their fecking toys.😈)
Tired children like to say β€œNo” and β€œNo” and sometimes, β€œNoooooo!” to absolutely EVERYTHING that Tired Mammy asks or suggests.

And along with tired children, comes the Tired Mammy. But as well as being a tired Mammy, Mammy ALSO has to be SUPER-ORGANISED Mammy.
Mammy needs to keep on top of the fridge situation.
Mammy needs to pack lunchboxes and school bags and afterschool bags.
Mammy needs to remember the fecking HORROR that is HOMEWORK.
Mammy needs to think about dinners sooner than when she opens the fridge at 6pm.
Mammy needs to set her alarm to make sure she gets out of bed 30 minutes before everyone else if Mammy wants to pee, shower and have a coffee all by herself.
Mammy needs to be an intelligent and functioning adult.
Mammy needs to rid her brain of references to Peppa Pig and Andy and Bing because they are not relevant to Macbeth and teenagers do NOT respond well to them.
Mammy needs to try to keep the washing basket from puking and Mammy needs to arrange everyone’s clothes before bedtime.
Mammy needs to remain relatively Wifely and interesting enough to hold a brief conversation with Tired Daddy when he comes home from Jim.
And Mammy needs to get used to wearing stupid heels and muckup every single day. (I’ll last until the end of September…)
Mammy needs to cram all of the Mammying and playing and cuddling and scolding and fun into 3 hours in the evening, while being JUST as tired as her beloved Tired Children who are determined to PUNISH her tired ass for abandoning them in school and creche. (Even though they both LOVE where they go and actually CRY when they are collected.)
Mammy can not have grapes or gin during the week… πŸ˜›πŸ˜›
Mammy struggles with balancing the Mammy guilt when she’s away from the girlies, and the urge to sell them on ETSY when she’s spent an hour being screamed at and cried at by her Tired Minions.

Mammy can’t win.

In conclusion. Mammy does INDEED need to rejoice that she has made it to Friday night, has the tired minions in bed, her feet up and the grapes poured. πŸ˜‚And now Mammy needs all of her Lovely Supermums to say Hello and remind her of what I have been missing while abandoning you all this week while trying to keep 286 plates spinning without falling off her heels and onto her poor, muck-uped, Mammy-guilty face.

Cheers Bitcheepoos. xxx

I am Seriously long dinner Mum

S-Mum is foooooked. 😩😩😩
Tonight’s dinner took 1 hour and 13 minutes.
1 feckin HOUR and 13 soul-destroying minutes.😠
It went like this.
Her:  I don’t like Chicken.

Me: Yes you do.

Her:  You KNOW I don’t like chicken.

Me: Yes you do.

Her: No I don’t. (Pushes chicken off plate.)

Me: Please put that chicken back on your plate.  Now, stop your nonsense and eat your dinner. (Inside scream.)

Her: I don’t LIKE chicken.

Me: You ate chicken in Granny’s on Monday.

Her: That was Gwanny’s chicken. 

Me: (You have to be feckin joking me.) Eat your dinner please pet. 

Her: WHY. are. there. CARROTS. on. my. plate? (Impressive tone there Mini-Me.)

Me: Eat your dinner.  Look.  Princess is eating her dinner. (Futile sing songy voice)

Her: These potatoes are BORING.

ME: (FUCK ME….) The potatoes are special magic potatoes that give you super powers.

Her: I don’t like chicken. 😑😑😑😑😑
Repeat this x 17.
Add in a few top parenting lines such as: 
“If you eat your dinner, you can have TWO bedtime stories.”  (I’m amazing aren’t I?)
“Did you know that eating your dinner makes your muscles bigger than Daddy’s?”

(JUST EAT YOUR BLOODY DINNER!)
“Look. Your baby sister is almost FINISHED HERS. She’s such a big girl.” (Yup. I know. I’m terrible.)
“Potatoes make you big and strong.” (Yes.  I said it. Despite the interweb telling me last week that this line will fuel negative body image. Seriously?)
“Mummy wears glasses because I didn’t eat carrots when I was little.”  (EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT….SWEET JEEEEEEEEESUS, JUST EEEEEEEEAT!)
“YOU WILL SIT AT THAT TABLE UNTIL YOU’VE EATEN THOSE POTATOES.” 

Dirty looks.😈
Princess had started hers, fallen asleep in her highchair, had a 20 minute nap, woken up and finished hers in the meantime.  πŸ˜‡πŸ˜‡πŸ˜‡
“Right. Scooby Doo is going off.” (Imagine that I would have cartoons on during dinner?  I know.  Go ahead.  Phone social services.  I’ll dial for you shall I?)
The telly was turned off. 

She wailed like a shitfaced banshee.

I turned my attention to the food covered fudge monster in the high chair…

I ignored her snarling…

And she finally gave in.
(She probably got hungry! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚)
It took one blast in the microwave and 1 hour and 13 minutes, but she EVENTUALLY ate the stupid potatoes.
THEN.
THEN, she bounced off the chair, scraped and put her own fricken plate in the dishwasher, skipped over to me, gave me a kiss and said “Two stories.  That’s SOOOOOO KIND OF YOU MY MAMMY BEAR!”
I may give up now.  I don’t stand a chance.
So anyway.

How was your day?

😘😘😘
#SMum #Mammyblogger #Mummy #MiniMeAndPrincess #RealStruggles #FML  #dinner

I am Some reality Mum

For anyone who complains that Mummy bloggers portray an unrealistic and ideal life… they’re reading the wrong bloggers.

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Mini-Me has upped her Bitch-game this evening. Seriously, there are teenagers with less attitude.
Am trying to remind myself that “a strong-willed daughter will be a strong woman, able for anything the world can throw at her.” Whatever…

Tonight, SHE threw EVERYTHING at me before bed. Tantrums, crying, huffing, puffing and death stares. She threw herself onto her bed, arm across her face, sighing and declaring dramatically “I am just FED UP.” (Looks through elbow to see if she’s getting required reaction.)

I had to leave the room; Part of me laughing at how hilarious she is, part of me DYING a little inside that I saw myself in front of my own eyes. 😳😳😳
Bad Mammy.
Bad, not-doing-anything-right, setting-seriously-bad-examples, fucking-my-child’s-emotional-responses, opposite-of-positive-parenting BAAAAAAD MAMMY.

Deep breaths. Compose oneself. Remember who is in charge…
(Little voice… “She is. She’s in charge you Crazy Woman…”) 😈

I eventually got her settled, read “The Dinosaur that Pooped the Bed” and tucked her in.
Then I came up the hall to THIS MESS.πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

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I don’t even know where to start, and so I’m ranting to you, my lovely S-Mummies πŸ’–, to avoid it…

And to stop myself from pouring a HUMONGOUS grape-juice. πŸ·πŸ˜‚

On a BRIGHTER NOTE… 🌞🌞🌞

I almost puked in public today. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

Week three of #operationskinnyarse began with the most terrifying and dreaded piece of equipment in the gym…
The mat.
I shit you not. It turns out that the most torturous, challenging, hardcore machine in there is my own fricken bodyweight and a mat.
Who knew?

Hope your Monday was equally as wonderful as mine.
Maybe Winnie the Poop was right! πŸ˜‚

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Over and out…
πŸ›ŒπŸ›πŸ›ŒπŸ›

#SMum #Mammyblogger #Mummy #MiniMeAndPrincess #glammymammy #meandmygirls #parentblogger #RealStruggles #reallife

Find me on Facebook @secretssofsmum

Instagram @the.s.mum

 

I am Stupid teething Mum

S-Mum Β is VERRRRRY tired.

Princess had her first restless night in ages. Stupid teeth. 😠😠 The wee dote had a raging temperature all night and would have sucked the full tube of bonjella had I let her. Β She’s up since 6am and has the dirtiest big red spot on her wee cheek.

It’s now 7am.

She’s on her second dribble bib.

I’m on my second coffee.

Mini-Me was exactly the same when she was teething: temperature, spot, tooth.

In that order.

Every time.

Isn’t it terrible that getting something as simple as teeth can be so bloody sore on them? 😩😩
Meanwhile, The Him is enroute to some foreign county to climb over walls and run around a field full of mud with his buddies from Jim. Β They’ll wade through rivers, crawl under electric wires and clamber over obstacles, getting muck in places that muck should NEVER be. I’m not even going to bother cleaning the bathroom today because he’ll be leaking magic muck from his pores for the next week anyway.

In fairness, it’s all for charity and I’m sure they’ll have a ball.πŸ’ͺπŸ’ͺπŸ’ͺ
He’ll land home tonight acting as if he’s John Mc-feckin-Clane, having saved the state in Die Hard 19, covered in manly scratches and dirt, flopping onto the sofa and expecting a round of applause and a beer.

And praise indeed he shall get… as long as he arrives home with a Prawn Balti from Chilli Shaker.

If he brings naan bread, I might even run him a bath.

If he brings wine, I’ll cheer and shout “Yippeekayeeey Mother Fucker!” at him every 5 minutes until Wednesday.
But now, I’m off to put a collection of teethers and carrots in the fridge. Β Yes carrots. Β Have you ever guven a teethung child a big, chilled, peeled carrot to gnaw on? They LOVE IT! Obviously it needs to be thick so their wee gummies cant bite a bit off, but it’s great. Β Especially when the tooth is almost through.)

Then I’m going to put on my glittery shoes and go shopping.

Shopping list so far:πŸ‘‡

Calpol.

Neurofen.

Teetha granules.

Bonjela.

Gin…

Have a Sassy Saturdays Bitcheepooooos 😎😎

I am Seriously Mum?

Ok.
So I TRY very hard every day to “Always look on the bright side of life”.
I like to think I’m a pretty positive person, but sometimes people do stupid sh*t that makes me grumpy. 😈

Like today, while my friend and I are packing our kiddies into the cars in an EMPTY-BAR-ONE-OTHER-CAR-CAR-PARK and MRS. DUMBASS, driving a gorgeous jeep, decides that the other 80 spaces are no good, so pulls into the space BETWEEN OUR TWO CARS. 😐

She SEES the 4 children and the buggy, and that I’m just about to put the carseat into the car, but still parks so close to my car, that the car seat WILL NEVER fit throught the gap.

So, because I GENUINELY believe that most people don’t intend to be mean, and that sometimes they’re quite simply Numpties who don’t realise their lack of perception of personal space, I calmly waited for MRS. DUMBASS to realise her numptiness and move her big jeep.

She took out her phone and made a call. 😑😑😑

Because Mini-Me was right beside me, I didn’t swear. (HUGE ACHIEVEMENT.) πŸ‘πŸ‘
INSTEAD, I said to my friend “I’m going to have to move the car to get the carseat in here. Can you please take the buggy for a moment?”
(Thism she definitely heard through the open window. It was probably the perfect example of how The Him says I THINK I’m being subtle, but I’m not being one tiny bit subtle.)

And that’s what I had to do.  I HAD TO MOVE MY CAR ABOUT A FOOT TO THE RIGHT in order to get the carseat in.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I have a temper that can make grown men cry.

I COULD have knocked on MRS. DUMBASS’S window and asked her was she f**kin SERIOUS?
But.
I didn’t.
I set my baby in the car, said goodbye to my friend who was equally as flabberghasted as I was, and prepared to drive off, swearing in my own head.

MRS. DUMBASS got out of her car as if nothing had happened…

Because I’m determined to find positives in ALL situations, I did.

She was wearing nice trousers on her Dumbass. πŸ‘©πŸ™†πŸ‘–πŸ‘–πŸ‘–

They really were pretty and looked great on her dumb ass as she walked away from the big jeep that she COULDN’T PARK PROPERLY IN AN EMPTY CARPARK!

But she had nice trousers and is probably a very lovely Dumbass.
Now. πŸ‘„
Here’s a cute puppy to negate the negatives that may be misconceived in this rant…sorry, post.

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HAPPY Friday.πŸ˜™πŸ˜™
Pop…🍷