Our week in Pictures:) Mammy's Indulgence

Mmmmmm.... Filled with wheaty, sugary, dairylicious goodness..... Much better then that crap mom usually feeds me.


Rub a dub dub! What to do when you're too lazy to take her allllllll the way upstairs to the big bath...



Pick and wipe... pick and wipe.... shred a little...let some more out... and we pick and wipe...

My name is Snot Queen, I enjoy long walks down the street to the neighbor's garden and am looking for a man between 12 and 24 months with a GSOH and appreciation of toilet roll...

Fast as fast can be, you'll never catch me! Sometimes, it's more fun to not get dressed... :)

I did it!

Okay, so after a lot of soul searching (and the start of a rain shower which could seriously damage my treasures ) I decided that it was my civic duty to liberate whatever useful items I could salvage from my old neighbor's yard (sick of saying the word "bin" sounds too dirty.) Far be it for me to be the one who allows our landfills to become over run with perfectly usable items when there are people out there with card board shoes and newspaper beds (one of which I actually made in those hazy days of my early twenties, quite comfy actually!)

My first run secured the ironing board cover, a cork board and the photo frame. Round two was the biggie, the pine desk. Unfortunately, that one will remain a dream as I could only find half of it and while I've apparently lost all my scruples with skimming items from the top, dumpster diving is not yet a sport I am ready to tackle.

On the bright side, I did pick up a collector's plate worth £70.00... Not a bad exchange for a little bit of pride:)

One Woman's Trash...

Is it weird that I want to go outside and root through my old neighbor's blue bin? She's been moved out for about a week now and it's driving me mad. So far, from my ever so sneaky peeking, I've spotted a gorgeous pine desk, an ironing board which unlike the one that came with our house is not burned to shreds, a calligraphy set which appears to be intact, a lovely photo frame and several other bits of useful household bric a brac.

The thing is, we've only just moved into the neighborhood and I really don't want us to get a reputation as being "THAT" family, you know, the ones with the moonshine distilling nicely out back and the grow op in the front room keeping us in the style (or lack thereof) to which we are accustomed. This is warring quite nicely with my own personal fear of becoming someone who worries way too much about what the neighbor's think. Aaaagh!

Already, our front yard is overgrown to the point where I am considering attaching a flag to the snot queen when she ventures out to play as our lawn mower is electric and can only cut grass when it is really, really dry and hasn't been rained on in several moons. As we live in Ireland, this is a rare occurence indeed.

I'm drifting away from the point though, and that my friends, is the looting of my ex - neighbor's cast offs. You see, this is what happens when you are at home all day with a baby, heavily pregnant and entering your 7th week of waiting for BT to hook up the freaking broadband (we currently can access a small measure of wireless by sitting on the counter of the utility room and holding the computer up to the window, a task which becomes ever more challenging as my pregnancy progresses.)

You spend way too much time contemplating the social ramifications of rooting through what is essentially someone elses giant bin. I could always do it under cover of darkness but somehow that is even less appealing. Besides, with the rash of robberies in the area lately, the guards would most likely be called and my night time rooting exposed for all to see.

As it is, my time for pondering is growing short as it is only a matter of time before either the bin (and my temptation) is removed or the new neighbor's arrive and dash my hopes of digging for household gold in their driveway.

What to do? What to do? What to do? Any and all advice welcome...

Sleep: Part Two

The results are in. Okay, so technically they were in almost three months ago, but as I'm currently growing a human being from scratch, you'll have to excuse my tardiness and forgive the dust that's built up on this late breaking piece of news.

Parents Lie. Yup! It's official. Mamas and papas beware, your dirty little secret is out, you've been rumbled. In what has to be the greatest discovery since those shower heads that increase your water pressure from zero to "blast off a layer of skin while you clean," I have uncovered the truth about how well our babies really are sleeping.

I don't know about you, but it took me all of five minutes to get sick of people asking about my baby's sleep habits. It took me five seconds to get sick of the advice they would then inevitably offer and it took even less for me to start feeling completely inadequate and totally paranoid about the fact that my baby was not falling into a twelve hour coma every night at 7pm from which only heavy medication or an earthquake would rouse her.

Far from gentle dreams and sweet slumber, 7pm was more like kick off time in our house. Daddy would arrive home from work, we'd play a little, eat a little, play some more and then, sometime between the nine o'clock news and whatever dodgy fare RTE was dishing up that night, the Snot Queen would rub her eyes and it would be off to bed where for the first year of her existence she would wake once or twice, root for the breast or just check and see that we were still there and then poof! Off to sleep again until it was time to get up at around 9 or so.

Personally, I had no complaints about this routine. Not having been born a bird, I see no reason to rouse myself anywhere near the vicinity of sunrise and the few times the Snot Queen has gone to sleep before nine found me bleary eyed and confused, wandering the house like a zombie in the pre dawn hours. By the time daddy dearest woke for work, his little family was heading back to bed for a good morning's sleep. If I were to put her in bed at 7 like her little cohorts, he'd never see her at all and would have to rely on photos and stories in order to keep up with her daily life.

Surely I couldn't be the only one though. Surely there were other babies out there that went to bed after the sun set and didn't need to be awake to witness it's return. Surely the Snot Queen wasn't the only child who regularly woke up for brief periods in the night and didn't sleep as though heavily sedated for 12 hour stretches.

In fact, she wasn't, and there were. All around us it seemed, were mothers who were also tearing out their hair as their precious small ones either refused to board the sleepy time express or else insisted on regular stop off points through out the night. There was an entire community of us obsessed with not only getting our babies to sleep at a "reasonable hour" but also getting them to "Sleep through the night" which apparently NONE of them were doing.

This confused me greatly as these mothers had obviously heard the stories and met these so called "Perfect Parents of Perfect Babies" and had been informed that this was the norm and that to deviate from this perfect pattern was to admit total and absolute failure as a parent and to invite scorn and derision from the mommy police (of whom I am just a little bit terrified.)

I decided to go in hunt of these mythical sleeping babies and so, using the cloak of anonymity provided by the world wide web, put forth the following question; How does your baby REALLY sleep?

Of those who replied, 98% admitted to having children who (Shock! Horror!) Did NOT sleep through the night!

But how could this be? What about all those people tutting away at my inadequacies and obvious failures as a mother?

What about all the books and tv shows, the so called "experts" who tell us that our children should not be conscious from sun down till sun up and that to allow otherwise makes us "bad parents" and means a lifetime of woe for and from our little angels?

What about the sleep trainers and the exorbitant fees they charge to "teach" us their methods and "train" our babies to sleep the night from birth onwards?

What about "controlled crying" (a cruel but unfortunately not unusual punishment) and all the other questionable methods, some pharmeceutical and some just plain ridiculous that parents are willing to employ in the hopes of achieving their ever elusive goal?

Could it all be just a giant lie? A ridiculous illusion like having the "perfect body" or any of the other unrealistic expectations we regularly place on ourselves and which are only ever achieved by a very tiny, yet very well publicized minority?

Could it be that babies aren't SUPPOSED to spend half their lives in a coma? That waking occasionally is perfectly normal and more a piece of basic biological programming then a well planned attack on their parent's sanity?

Could it be that maybe, just maybe, it's the 98% of us with babies that don't fit the mold who are normal and that the remaining 2% are the sleep equivalents of naturally having a body like Pamela Anderson? Who, by the way doesn't even naturally have a body like Pamela Anderson...

Could it possibly be that just like diet pills and penis enlargers, someone, somewhere copped on that there were a lot of sleep deprived parents out there who would give an arm, a leg and a whole lot of money, for eight, uninterrupted hours of zzz's?

I don't know about you, but I for one don't intend to lose anymore sleep over it.

I'm off to bed now.

Good Night:)

Sleep: Part One

Sleep. It's been on my mind a lot lately, especially since I entered the state of pregnancy often preceded by the word "heavily." I've been there for a few weeks but now, as I enter the final month of my gestation period, mother nature seems to be pulling the brakes on my half witted plans of world domination and my mile long list of "Things to Do Before the Baby Arrives."

A list which includes, but is FAR from limited to; Finishing the book, mailing out Protest Nappies, scrubbing the house from top to bottom (I'm seriously concerned about the hygiene habits of our home's previous tenants...) cooking, baking and freezing a year's supply of foods (?!?!?) entertaining and caring for the 15 month old overlord that is the Snot Queen, preparing for the imminent arrival of number two and creating a fabulous garden out back of the |"Dream House."

This crazy hyperactivity seems to be a common thread amongst my fellow breeders who's due dates are imminent...

Poor Jen over at Jen's Rantings has been felled by hypertension as she attempts to single handedly save the world and has had to limit her activities to those of a moderately insane person for these final blessed weeks of baby growing.

Irish Mammy On the Run who is responsible for organizing the Nation Wide Protest which we are all currently consumed with was hauled into check by her little boy.

As for me, Mother Nature didn't have to be nearly so dramatic as alongside my own rabid need to "go, go, go" and "do, do, do" lies an equally deep love of "sleep, sleep, sleep" and "chill, chill, chill" which means that a combination of the old "wonky sacroiliac joint" along side the "pregnant nap fairy" with a healthy dash of "pee when I sneeze" means that my activities are quickly being limited to those which can be accomplished either in the home or within a ten minute radius thereof.

These include, but are far from limited to; Finishing the book, mailing out Protest Nappies, scrubbing the house from top to bottom, cooking, baking and freezing a year's supply of foods (?!?!?) entertaining and caring for the 15 month old overlord that is the Snot Queen, preparing for the imminent arrival of number two and creating a fabulous garden out back of the "Dream House."

Or of course, I could always take a nap...

Lesson for First Time Parents no. 3465

Good Afternoon Everyone! And welcome to this weeks edition of "Lessons For First Time Parents." This week we will be discussing the topic of long haul car journeys with small babies and why they should be avoided at all costs.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. The May bank holiday was upon us, RTE was for the first time this millenium NOT forecasting rain, showers or any variation of wet, wet weather and dear partner's sister and her boyfriend had a lovely new apartment with plenty of space for the three (four) of us to stay in. Throw in a free night in a hotel and the promise of milkshakes and McDonald's on the car ride out and my pregnant self was very much sold.

Like most fun things we try and do, this journey was not without it's initial setbacks, but after the revival of the car's dead battery we were on our way. The Snot Queen voiced some initial disapproval at being removed from the always entertaining game of "eating dirty things we find in the driveway" and being strapped into the car seat, but five minutes and several cheese straws down the road was snoring away.

We patted ourselves on the backs for our incredible parenting skills and my inspired move of keeping the child awake all afternoon and laughed demonically as we chowed down on greasy fare uninterrupted by grabbing hands and merciless wailing. The road was open and we were on our way!

Unfortunately, what we hadn't taken into consideration was that the Snot Queen's average nap time is 2 hours and Galway is a three hour journey away. Sure enough, an hour or so away from our destination, she awoke.

Luckily, we were just a few minutes away from Eddie Rocket's and Milkshakes so while my darling went in to place our orders (Strawberry for him, Oreo for me, yum!) I crawled into the back seat and stuffed our daughter full of apple juice, yoghurt and even more of the neverending supply of cheese straws I'd baked the day before.

Unfortunately, a full belly was not enough to distract the Snot Queen from the fact that she had now been sitting in the same place for over two hours. She was far from amused and voiced her disapproval.

Loudly.

With fists flailing and her little body straining against the restraints, she wailed her displeasure for all to hear. Her face went from pink to red to puce and tears were quick to follow. The crying escalated from whinging to full blown gasping hysterical in ten seconds flat. Frantically, with a desperation born of being trapped in a tiny space with an increasingingly loud and unpleasant creature, I searched the car for distractions. Anything to make the noise stop.

Board books, ketchup packets, bottles, cups.... All were offered and all were violently rejected. Finally, as a last resort, we began to sing...

And sing and sing and sing. For the remaining hour and a half of our trip, we sang our hearts out as the queen alternately laughed, clapped and bopped along to our tuneless warbling. If we stopped for more then two seconds or chose a song NOT on her approved playlist, she was quick to let us know with a howl that was turned on and off with the flick of a switch.

The eensy weensy spider crawled up so many water spouts I'm surprised the poor bugger never drowned and Old MacDonald's farm grew to include such exotic species as snakes and leopards when we ran out of the more traditional barnyard fare. "Row Row Row your boat" was announced dead in the water and "Bingo" was quickly taken out back and done away with by the farmer at our daughter's bequest.

There was no doubt who was pulling the strings in this puppet show as we butchered just about every children's song and nursery rhyme known to man. In an effort to amuse ourselves we attempted a few more adult numbers but sensing the lack of animal sounds, hand actions and repitition, our top forty show was quickly shut down and it was back to the barnyard for us.

By the time we reached the city, even music (if you can call it that, and trust me, had you heard us that would be the last word that would come to your mind) had ceased to calm her and she was roaring away non stop as we frantically searched for an address we'd never been to in a city we rarely frequented. In the Dark.

However, find it we did and as we released the beast from her prison, her howling stopped, her tears miraculously dried and by the time our hosts came down to greet us was smiling and giggling as though the last hellish hour had never happened and she wasn't the devil's spawn.

Today, as we walk the streets of Galway and bask in the early summer sun, I know I should be enjoying myself more. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, a shadow lurks. As lovely as this weekend may be, all good things must come to an end and come Monday we will be back on the road again.

Does anyone know what sound a giraffe makes?

Mammy Crusaders

It's not easy to be a mammy crusader. No matter how valiant the cause, or noble the protest, it's really hard to work up the necessary passion when all you really want is a good night's sleep! Finding your get up and go is near impossible when your get up and go got up and left about three seconds after the test turned positive and you officially became captive to a higher power, otherwise known as your baby.

Here's the thing. I firmly believe with all my heart that what the Irish government is doing is despicable. The Early Childcare supplement was cut last year by almost ten Percent. In the recent “Emergency” budget, our children were yet again asked to “tighten their belts” to the tune of a further 50% cut of the ECS which will then be abolished all together in 2010. The Snot Queen doesn't even WEAR a belt yet! The only ones she has are sewn onto her pants for decoration!

I saw an interesting item on the news recently about the daily expense accounts of those powers that be in the dail in the who have decided that our children should pay the cost for foolhardy business decisions made by the banks, the developers and (dare I suggest it?) the government themselves. €300.00 is what the men and women of fine fail are given as “pocket money” on a daily basis to cover the miscellanaeous expenses that their already overblown salaries simply do not stretch to cover.

Another interesting news item told the tale of a married couple who were both TD's and as such, entitled to €144 per night "accomodation" expenses which they both claimed regularly despite only using ONE room between them. It wasn't until they'd racked up over €30,000 of taxpayer's money that their consciences got to them and they decided to come clean and begin only taking the one allowance to share betwixt them. Aaaaaaaahh! How noble of them. They have yet to face any repercussions for their actions.

Then of course, there's the "Brand new! Still in the Box!" €51, 000, 000 electronic voting system that we all new was a COLOSSAL waste of money from the start but that the gvn't STILL went ahead and funded and have now decided to scrap altogether. Now, I don't know about you, but I freak out if my partner wants to order takeaway more then once a month as to me, paying through the nose for shit food that never tastes as good as you think it will and always does horrible things to your insides is a huge waste of money, and that's only €20.00 or so and at least you get a nice case of indigestion to show for your money spent! What do they have to show for the €51 million trusted to them by the Irish taxpayers to spend in a wise and thoughtful manner?

Nothing.


I could go on and on and on and on. I could talk about our old friend the Financial Regulator whose job was to act as a financial watchdog, ensuring that this very sort of mess never happened and who "retired" with a sweet good bye package totalling in the millions and then was strangely enough never heard from again when the proverbial hit the fan.

I could talk about the many gvn't run businesses who remain exempt from the pension levies.

I could talk about words like "kickback" and "Development"

I could start asking questions about how when times were good, we put our children into portable classrooms and let them turn bathrooms into classrooms rather then build much needed (and much cheaper in the long run) extensions to our nations schools and yet now, when the coffers are supposedly dry, we have no problem throwing money at the very people who got us into this mess in an effort to "help them out"

If the gvn't was interested, I, along with a number of other concerned citizens, could probably find a number of places to locate the funds needed to fill the ever growing hole that is our economy, and you know what?

At no point would that involve taking money from our children.

So yes, I could go on and on, but the more I type, the angrier I get and the more I am inspired to get out there and do something. So yes, while a good night's sleep may sound really good to me most of the time, right now, to this mammy crusader, securing my children's future sounds even better.

Looks like my get up and go just got back.

For more information on PACUB (Protest Against Child Unfriendly Budget) click here and to read about the campaign in the Irish Times, click here.