I am Some New Year Mam-tras Mum

Happy New Year my Lovely Ladybelles.paper-3042645_960_720

By now, the trees are down and the house looks alarmingly bare.  It’s back to uniforms and routine and lunches and gymbags…and after 2 weeks of dreadful flus, no heating and general Cabin Fever, I for one am ready for normality.

I took my tree down on Saturday morning and very quickly realised just how DIRTY my house is.

There is a layer of dust, of handprints and of pawprints and of glitter on every surface in my home and I have decided to give it a new name:  it is my “Layer of Love”.

Giving it a nice name like that makes it easier to tolerate.  Clever eh?  I don’t feel so bad about the dirt now, when I consider that it was my own little munchkins who happily caused it.

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In the midst of the New Year’s Resolution BS of January, here are a few precepts or mantras that I intend to try harder to follow this year.  I’m not changing anything. I simply try to employ these in order to try to keep my sh*t together.

These would the Rules of Mammying if I were Queen of the World.

  1.  Embrace the Layer of Love.  Yes, our houses must be safe and generally clean, but handprints on the glass or dust on the TV aren’t really good reason to stress, are they?
  2. Let it go. The things that bother you? The people who annoy you? Are they really worth being bothered about?  If it’s outside of your own 4 walls, it’s not important.
  3. What people think of you, is none of your business.  If people don’t like you, it’s THEM who has the problem, not you.  Work on YOU liking you. Most important.
  4. Believe that you can.  Who says that you can’t?  Tell that committee of negative thoughts in your head to sit down and shut up.
  5. Stop Comparenting.  Comparenting is my new word.  It’s clever isn’t it? It’s when we compare our parenting to others.  And it’s never positive or productive, so stop it!

I’m not going to change in 2018.  I’m quite happy with who and how I am already thank you.  I manage (just about!) to keep it all between the ditches just fine as I am and I will simply try to keep implementing these ideas in my daily life.

Especially the Comparenting one.  I don’t care if Shaniqua’s Mum lets her sit in the front seat.  I don’t care if Tarquin’s Mum gives him Football Special in his lunch.  I don’t care if Jezzabell’s Dad brings her to every dance class going.  Good for them.

Parent for your kids, in your home.

I hope your layer of love is only beautiful after the holidays.

mum

 

I am Some Last Firsts Mum

My Baby

Tonight Mammy is hormental.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that even though I keep referring to Princess as The Baby, she is in fact, not a baby any more.

Tonight, I put my last one year old to bed for the last time.

In the morning, she shall be two.

Two.  

A real number.  

No longer counted in months… no more 18 months.  No more “one and a bit”.

Nope.  From tomorrow, she is TWO.

And someone needs to pinch me and explain how the HELL that happened?

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In my head, she’s a Baby.  

But more and more as I look at her, I’m getting reminded that she is in fact a little girl. She’s a toddler.  She’s a kid.  

Not a baby any more.

And while her dress for her 2nd birthday party is for aged 3, it doesn’t matter how big she gets, or how tall she gets, or how old she gets.  She WILL always be MY Baby.  

Maybe I’m emotional because I reckon she’s my last first; my Last first birthday. Last first shoes.  Last first tummy bug.  Last first tooth.  She’ll be our last first day at school.  Last first everything.

Does this make me sad?  NOPE.  But it does make me pay just a little more attention to these little lasts.  I find myself memorising things. Watching a little more closely.  Hugging a little tighter.

And while tonight should not be sad, because of course every year marks a celebration of life and of health… for some reason, I have a wee lump in my throat.  I was teary putting her into her cot.  I found myself watching her and savouring her more today.  Maybe because of that last first.  

How did she get so big?  Where have those 2 years gone?  If I close my eyes, I can still smell her as a new baby snuggled into me.  I can still see her face as it was the second I met her.  In my head, she hasn’t changed a bit.  In reality, she’s thriving. And I thank my lucky stars.

Tonight, as I tuck them in, I have a five-and-a-half-and-three-quarter year old who will be 17 on her next birthday… and a Baby.

From tomorrow, I’ll have a five-and-a-half-and-three-quarter year old who will be 17 on her next birthday… and a TWOublemaker.

Let the fun begin.
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I am So Delighted Mum

It is no secret that myself and my Him LOVE Christmas.

We’ve been discussing a few ideas for fundraisers over the past few months and decided one wet and dreary Sunday in October, while we were all snuggled up with the girls watching The Polar Express (yes, Christmas Movies start in October in our house!), that it would be amazing to see it on the big screen again. (It carries memories of our first Christmas together…aaaaaw!)

So! Lightbulb moment!

An hour and 2 phonecalls later, and we had it sorted!

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AnneMarie and Mark in Century Cinemas Letterkenny  were as excited as we were at the prospect of showing this Christmas Classic as we were.  They have kindly offered us the use of their largest screen on the 2nd of December at midday.  The rights for the movie had to be acquired and paid for, so Mr Rushe Fitness offered to sponsor this and all the tickets for the movie.  The advertisement and tickets were designed for us, (as usual) by the incredibly talented Lorraine from LorAyn Designs.  I swear this girl can see into my brain.  That in itself is a talent!

The proceeds of the event are going straight to two very wonderful charities which benefit families all over Ireland:

The Jack and Jill Foundation

which provides care and love to so many children each day

and

The Victoria Thompson Scholarship, a Donegal charity which supports the creation of palliative care services for young children.

On Friday last, we announced our plan.

We put tickets on sale for 90 minutes yesterday. 

We sold out. 

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And so now, the golden tickets have made their way into hundreds of Donegal homes and we will all gather together to enjoy OUR favourite Christmas movie on December 2nd.

Apologies to those who didn’t get tickets and thank you so very much to everyone who has supported this event.

ALL ABOARD!

#rushetoraise

 

I am Slow Down, I’m Not Ready Mum

Mammy is not dealing with the speed at which Mini-Me is growing up.

Daddy is not helping.

So yesterday, we went for Sunday Lunch; partially because we were celebrating Mammy being home from the school tour, but mostly because the fridge I’d stocked up before leaving was miserably empty. This and Mammy’s absolute exhaustion, coupled with Daddy having had to do all the everything for himself and the girls for 3 whole days, meant that no one argued when I suggested going out for lunch.

So off we toddled to the Inishowen Gateway Hotel. (This is where we had our wedding and we love taking the girls into the big ballroom. There’s something quite lovely about watching them dancing on the floor we had our first dance on. Aw.)

We finished our lunch and Mini-Me asked if I’d take her to get icecream.  I was just about to get up when The Him lifted her up, pointed at the dessert table… on the OPPOSITE side of the fricken ballroom and started to give her instructions on what to do and what to ask for… All the while, Gombeen Mammy here is trying to interrupt with “I’ll take her…” “Sure I’ll go with…” and “Mammy will take you…”  and each time, The Him shushes me and continues giving his instructions.

Her face is one of excitement. His is one of divilment and amusement. Mine is one of pure and utter terror, or at least that’s what he tells me as Mini-Me flounces off through the mahoosive ballroom.

ALL BY HERSELF…

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So far away, on the other side of the ballroom.

Mammies.

I’m not sure what comes over me.   I can’t breath.

I watch her charging off, full of determination and confidence.  I turn my steely, one eyebrowed gaze at The Him. I can’t speak but obviously he understands my thoughts.

“What have you just done?” hisses Mammy.

“She’s almost 6 years old and it’s quiet.  We can see her and she’s perfectly capable of asking for icecream herself.” laughs Him. He is enjoying this just a little too much.

“But. but. but…”  I must look like a goldfish.

“But what?” He’s laughing by now.

But nothing.  I couldn’t answer.   What was wrong with me? Why did watching my healthy happy little dictator bouncing off towards an icecream table all by herself make me want to scream? I wanted to leap up and run after her.  I’m pretty sure The Him was poised and ready to rugby tackle me to the ground if I had however.

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Look at that wee face.

I watched. She stepped into the queue, waited her turn, stepped up to the table and obviously communicated her request in perfectly acceptable English, as next thing, she came stroming back to the table with a HUGE bowl of icecream, marshmallows, smarties and a flake!  And a smile of self achievement and pride and joy that no amount of Mammy handing her icecream could have given her.

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Happiness is…

And I sighed a sigh of relief that she had returned the whole way from the other side of the room all by herself.  Yes.  I am a Turbotwat.

Am I barmy ladies? I mean, I don’t think I ‘mollie-coddle’ her. If anything, I’m probably too hard on her. She doesn’t get everything done for her.  She has chores to do at home. She is expected to behave a certain way.  I try to encourage independence and initiative and to ensure she doesn’t end up an entitled little fart, but yesterday taught me 3 things.

  1. I’m only happy for her to be independent on my terms, when I say so.
  2. She’s well able and I need to wise up!
  3. My Him is a Devil.

And it reminded me of something too.  She’s getting way too big, way too fast  and I am not ready for it.  I’m not able for the fact that she doesn’t need me to do everything for her. And even though Mammies spend our time longing for when they can do stuff for themselves, when we suddenly realize that they CAN do things for themselves, it’s quite the shock.

I have a feeling that I’ll still feel like this when she’s 27 and I’m watching her go through the crowd of a Ballroom all by herself. But by then, I suppose she’ll be going to the bar to get Mammy a gin won’t she?

Probably, but hey, she’ll be well able by then, won’t she?

What was your “Stop it, I’m not ready” moment?