Because Debauchery Loves Company...

There are certain skills in life I know that I need to attain. The ability to drive for instance. At 31 years of age with two small children and a husband who is soon going to install a meter in our car and start charging me for all the journeys I politely request that he take us on, the ability to motor myself about would indeed come in handy.

Likewise, it would also be great if I could ever get around to finishing off all those skills I started to learn and then abandoned in favor of newer, more sparkly skills. Like Knitting. I can do the basic stitch but that's about it. No matter how many times I get people to show me how to cast off, I never actually go home and practice and instead just continue to annually pick up a set of knitting needles and with the best of intentions knit what basically amounts to nothing more then a really long scarf destined to never ever leave the knitting needle as I have yet to figure out that final, crucial step.

Tonight however, I learned a new skill. A skill which when combined with my complete and utter lack of self control, can only lead to self destruction of the highest order.

Tonight I learned how to make a personal size chocolate cake in 3 minutes. In a mug. In the microwave. Add another minute of melting chocolate and suddenly that personal size chocolate cake became an ooey, gooey, heavenly piece of rich, chocolatey, melt in your mouth heaven.

I wish to god that I could scrub this knowledge from my brain.

But since I can't, I will happily implant it into yours. And remember, not only is it delicious, it's also quick, easy to clean and ridiculously simple to make... Enjoy! (and don't forget to make the chocolate sauce after to pour on!)

Take a mug or large microwavable cup.

Add:

4 T. flour

4 T. sugar

2 T. good, unsweetened cocoa powder


Mix dry ingredients well.


Add:

1 egg

3 T. milk

2 T. vegetable oil

3 T. semi-sweet chocolate chips ( or broken up good chocolate)

1/2 t. vanilla


Mix really, really well in cup. Microwave for 3 minutes on high. Remove and enjoy!

(Recipe found at http://shesinthekitchen.blogspot.com/)

My first Guest Blog! Life on the Road...

Yay! I've been invited to do a series of guest blogs over at www.parenthood.ie in order to chat about my ongoing series of nation wide booklaunches/coffee mornings and all the fun that goes with it! (Waking up the girls at 6 am for a 2 hour car journey in which they refuse to nap and spend the entire time complaining that they're "stuck," - ummmm, no, you're strapped into your carseat, there's a difference - and then having to clamber into the back seat to re-stick them when they eventually free their arms and become "unstuck." Yes... fun.)

To check out the first installment, go to http://www.parenthood.ie/blog/barbara/guest-blog-starting-a-book-tour.html

or else, just click here. Thanks! See you soon!

The Grand Re - Opening...

It is very, very, very late. My eyes are pretty much closing as I type and I am this close to curling up on the kitchen table and calling it a night. However... That being said, I couldn't go to sleep until I'd introduced my brand new, snazzy dazzy website to you.

Yes, I realize I already kind of introduced it in my last post, but that was the "old" website. This is the shiny, new, post makeover website. The Gorgeous, lovely, not so pink and tacky website that has tested the bounds of my husband's love for me and made me realize what a patient, kind and good man he really is (not to mention handy with the old html!)

You can check it out here. I'd love to know what you think.


For now though, it's off to bed. Night!

Maria x

Dads to be? Take Note...

Okay, so there were A LOT of amazing stories and experiences that I wanted to put into the Mammy Diaries, but unfortunately, in order to make it so that people could afford to buy it AND still pay their rent/make their mortgage repayments, there was quite a bit I had to leave out. HOWEVER... (Drumroll please...) I have a bit of news.

I have a new website. It's not 100% finished yet (although it is online and it is working thanks to my lovely husband who doesn't mind at all having me leaning over his shoulder going, "hmmmm.... no, not like that, more like, you know... no, not that either... Could we try it in a different colour maybe?") but we're working on it, and we welcome suggestions (well, I do anyway, not sure how keen my husband is to have the virtual folk joining me in the backseat web designing party.)

One of the things that thrills me about this, is that it means I now have an outlet for all those stories that will, thanks to the joys of technology, no longer go untold.

For the moment though, until we sort out the kinks and build a nice little base of viewers, I'm going to be sharing some of those stories here. The first one, tonight, takes place in a little city called Cork and gives ample reason why pregnant women are to be listened to at all costs...

Taking the long Way...
For weeks I had been preparing a list of what I needed for the hospital. I researched websites, read books, everything. I finally packed the labour ward bag and the main bag at around 32 weeks. I bought duplicates of the toiletries and other everyday essentials so I wouldn't have to open the bag again. I then asked my husband to put together a little bag of what he might need and add it to whichever bag was appropriate. Much to my annoyance, he didnt bother doing this.

I strapped a teddy bear to the car seat and asked him to practice opening and closing it because it's a bit tricky and I said he needed to be sure so that there would be no hassle on the way home. Of course he didnt do this either.

Finally, I asked him to plan our route to the hospital. He laughed at me and said, “do you think I don't know where CUH is?”

We live in Douglas where my husband was raised and I said that it might be late at night and it could be very stressful so could he do a trial run or at least think about it. I asked him to visualise the route he would take and consider things like rush hour, road works, traffic lights, lane changes and other delays so he could drive on autopilot when the time came. He has a tendency to do silly things like take wrong turns when driving so I was particularly worried about this.

I was very calm at the time of labour and was on the phone to the hospital for a few hours on and off, so all was fine when we went to drive to the hospital. It was 3:00am. There are two entrances to our estate and one has a series of speed bumps so my hubbie said we'll take the other exit to avoid these. I didn't take much more notice as I was still timing contractions and in pain. About five mins later I asked him where we were.

He had turned out of the estate which was his usual route to work and then just switched off - we were half way to the city centre.

I said to turn around and he replied that at this stage it was the same either way. I didn't get mad because I didn't have the energy and I knew he was more likely to do something stupid. To make a long story short, we drove through the city centre at 3am on Fri 28th December, a huge boozy night on the tow. We had to drive through swarms of drunks trying to flag us down thinking we were cabs.

My genius husband then decided that the lights at Dennehys cross took ages, but he knew a back road through some estate so he turned in there but the road was dug up and we went over a series of huge bumps and ended up getting caught in two other traffic lights. I was in too much pain to speak!

When we arrived at the hospital, he dropped me at the main door in I went. I was feeling a little better so he went to park the car. He didn't know that there was a car park underground and went all the way to the main car park about a 5 minute walk away. Had he done a trial run he would have known this.

I sat alone for 20 mins getting contractions on and off, it was hell! No nurse came out to me as there had been an emergency. Some poor girl had arrived by ambulance and all I could hear was scream after scream. It was awful as I was already terrified enough. Paramedics were running all around the place and she had a group of people with her, all really upset. She gave birth there & then in the emergency room. I think it was ok cos I heard the baby and saw the smiles but I'll never forget listening to her. I hated my husband so much for not being there for me, I was shaking with fear.

Eventually he arrived. I was furious and asked where the hell he had been?!?!? He said the car park was ages away and he couldn't carry all three bags so he had to "rejig things around.”

Basically he had never packed the stuff I asked into either of my bags. Instead, at the last minute he'd thrown a pile of his stuff into a third bag. As he couldn't carry all three at the same time, he had stood in the car park and re-organisd all the stuff I had packed weeks earlier to avoid this very situation arising.

I'm still so angry at him now remembering it. I never said a word until a few weeks later. I still have no sense of humour about it and I often wonder if this will come up in marriage counseling in years to come! Talk about letting me down, what really makes me mad is that I anticipated it coming and flagged it to him but he just ignored me.

Oh, and on the way home from hospital he had trouble with the car seat...

It's FINISHED!!!

IT'S FINISHED!!!!! After nearly three years of writing, talking, editing, learning, compiling, reading etc... I am so happy to say that "Mammy Diaries" has been released and is available for purchase here

Poo; Of People, Birds and A Bear of said Name...

The tiny one is sound asleep, tucked under my arm.

My Headache has been reduced to a dull throbbing.

The Snot Queen and her daddy have long since retired to bed and the radio is playing a mad mix of sounds that are supposed to be ambient and chilly - outie but instead just sound like church.

Time to rehash the best and worst bits of my day...

The tiny one has been making a lot of noise about poo for the last few months. For a brief spell last November, she even got into the habit of doing a poo in the toilet each day for about a week. So this morning, after three weeks of house arrest and a not so charming deposit on the white carpet in the spare room after her bath yesterday morning, I decided to take a gamble and leave her nappy free for the day with the potty nearby if she wanted it.

There was much initial excitement and plenty of 'trial sits' where she'd call out "Baby Poo!" run and sit on the potty for five or so seconds, announce she was, "All done!" and proceed to gaze expectantly into the empty potty, wondering where the hell the poo had gotten to.

The morning continued on as normal with the exception that the Tiny One's daily poo seemed to be taking a holiday. No worries though, it was just an experiment after all.

Then the Snot Queen announced that she had to poo and that she wanted to do it on the potty.

Cue WWIII.

The second her bottom touched the potty, all hell broke completely and utterly loose. The tiny one was in hysterics.

"NO LILY POO!!!!! BABY POTTY!!!!! BABY POO!!!!! NO LILY!!! NOOOO!!!!!!"

Thinking she might get a kick out of seeing a real poo in the potty, I took her over to see it when her sister was done.

I thought wrong. Very wrong.

" NOOOOOOOO LILY POOOOOO IN BABY POTTY!!!!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!!! MOMMMMMMMMYYYY!!!!"

At this point, the Snot Queen wandered off to a quiet corner to read a book and get away from the poo shrieking madness.

The Tiny One followed. And as is normal behaviour for an upset child at naptime, she was quick to transfer her outrage to a new target.

"NOOOOO LILY BOOK!!!!! BABY BOOK!!!! MOMMMMMYYYYYY!!!!! BABY MOKIES (*code word for milk. A little less obvious then her previous cry of "BOOBIES!!!")

She then proceeded to turn towards me and walk smack into a kitchen chair.

Just when you thought the meltdown couldn't get any worse, it did...

It was about this point that I decided enough was enough and called out the magic word, "OUTSIDE!!!"

On went the nappy. On went the clothes. On went the boots and out we all went into the garden where the girls jumped off their escess energy on the trampoline and I cleaned bird poo off of the garden furniture and hung out a load of wash on my freshly made clothesline.

At some point, the Snotzer disappeared back indoors, but I kept calling out and she kept answering so I assumed all was well.

Beginner's mistake.

I went in a few minutes later to find her happily playing away in the bathroom with both taps running and a good inch of water on the bathroom floor.

I'm actually quite impressed with how well I handled the situation. There was no shouting, no swearing and no tears (after 3 weeks of isolation I'm pretty well institutionalized at this point.) Instead, I calmly closed the door on the floodlands and through on a Pooh Bear video, thereby buying the little darlings a reprieve and myself thirty minutes of sanity in which to restore order to the disaster zone that was once my house.

Floods dried, muddy floors mopped and children fed, we had just cracked into the play dough when a miracle occurred.

An imposing figure in head to toe motorcycle gear appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

Daddy was off early.

And now I am off as well, to bed.

Good Night! x

Dear Croup...

Dear Croup,

GO AWAY!!!!!!!

Sincerely,

Mammy Diaries x

The Pox Stops Here...

All in all, I have to say that last week's run in with the vomiting bug wasn't that bad at all. The not so tiny one, despite not being able to keep down her food for nearly a week and living pretty much entirely off of the old booby milk, didn't lose so much as an ounce and at no point did her spirits ever flag or did I ever worry for her well being.

No. The illness itself wasn't that bad at all. What did drive me loopy though, was the isolation. That lovely period called quaranteen where you don't step foot outside of your house for fear that you infect someone else's child and become known as "THAT MOTHER." Where your days all roll into one long Barney filled blur and the soundtrack to your life goes something like this;

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! THAT'S MINE!!!!!!!"

Thud.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"MMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!""""""

It was also pissing down rain most of the week which ruled out even the tiniest hope of going outdoors and maybe, just maybe, catching sight of another adult figure somewhere in the distance. At one point, I was NEARLY tempted to answer the door to one of the political canvassers doing the rounds...

For an entire week, my world revolved around vomit. Cleaning it out of the sheets, the towels, the floors, the clothes and the girls. When I wasn't mopping up bodily fluids, I could be found refereeing fights over who had the ____________ (fill in the blank with the name of any object really, it doesn't matter, they probably fought over it at some point!) first and who pushed who and why eating butter straight from the packet is not a good idea.

In short, it was a loooonnnngggg week.

However, eventually, it ended and on Saturday night we celebrated our puke free status by going to a wedding. The girls had a ball. Having had no company but each other and myself for the past week, they went mental at the sight of other children and danced the night away in that insanely energetic way that only the under 5's and the overly chemically enhanced can.

Monday found us at our weekly Mums and Babies Coffee morning where once again, the girls partied like there was no tomorrow, as though something was about to happen that would have us locked indoors again for the foreseeable future...

Something spotty...

And itchy...

And highly infections...

Yup. You guessed it, the Snot Queen has the chicken Pox and we are back in quaranteen again...

The fun never stops.

Dear Rota Virus...

Dear Rotavirus,

We hope you enjoyed your stay at "Chateau Tiny One." Of course, seeing as how you stayed here for nearly a week, I can only assume that the accommodation was to your liking.

A few small matters in relation to your bill;

As you overstayed your welcome... I mean, remained here past your expected check out time, we have had to tack on an additional late fee as well as charge you for the extra 2 night's stay.

Your visit also put a strain on our already stressed housekeeping staff who will now require a weekend's rest, including several treatments at a spa of my... I mean her choosing. Chocolates would also not go astray. This has all been included in your invoice, as has the isolation pay I simply must insist upon as we have been unable to leave the house or partake in social activities due to your presence.

On a similar note, you managed to dirty just about every towel, blanket and sheet in our home. The children's (and my own) wardrobes were pretty much decimated! Our laundry machines have been running steadily since you arrived! I sudder to think of what the utility bills will be like this month! I'm sure you agree that it is only right and just that I send you a copy of them when they are issued and that you pay a portion to cover your share of the financial burden.

Overall, having reviewed your actions of the past week, it is our recommendation that in future, should you find yourself in our area again, that you also find yourself alternate accommodation.

Yours Sincerely,

Mammy D

Taking the Tiger Mom by the Tail...

I was going to come on here today and write about the tiny one being sick for the last few days. Tales of riding the vomit comet and nappies so vile that I will never look at curry the same way again.

Instead, I am going to write about something else that has sickened me. Something that shakes and disturbs me and makes me worry for the type of society we have become.

A few weeks ago, I was forwarded an article from the Wall Street Journal entitled "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior ." In it, Amy Chua,a mother, Yale Law professor and author of "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," explains why she believes that extreme discipline, shame and subordination are the key ingredients to raising "successful" children.

She has called her daughters "garbage," said they were, "lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic."

All of course, for their own good.

Growing up, they were not allowed to have sleepovers or play dates, to get less then an A in any subject or to play an instrument other then the violin or piano, which of course, with daily three hour practice sessions, they would excel at.

They could not be in a school play, nor could they complain about not being allowed to be in a school play. They were not allowed to watch television or play video games or to be anything less then the best in any class they took part part in.

To the Tiger Mother, failure (or even mere mediocrity) is not an option. Success is the only way.

But what exactly is success in the eye of the Tiger Mother and where exactly is the logic of the Tiger Mother coming from?

China is one of the biggest violators of human rights in the world.

Although technically outlawed in 1996, human rights groups say brutality and degradation are common in Chinese detention centres.

In China, there are 68 crimes which are punishable by death, including among them bigamy, gambling and computer hacking.

Internet forums are strictly monitored - this week for example, the Chinese government has outlawed the broadcasting of recent events in Egypt, where the people are trying to overthrow a repressive government - and the word "Democracy" has been banned on most chinese web browsers. According to wikipedia;

"n 2005 reporter Shi Tao was sentenced to imprisonment for 10 years for releasing an internal Communist Party document to an overseas Chinese democracy site after Yahoo! China provided his personal emails and IP addresses to the Chinese government.[15] Skype president Josh Silverman said it was "common knowledge" that TOM had "established procedures to... block instant messages containing certain words deemed offensive by the Chinese authorities."[16]"

The "one child" policy, limiting each chinese couple to a maximum of one child, is believed to have created a huge rise in the number of gender specific abortions being performed as well as in the cases of female infanticide, claims which are strongly supported by china's lopsided ratio of 118 males being born to every 100 females.

But hey! If those kids are kicking our asses at Maths and sciences and if they have toddlers who can rattle off a Mozart Symphony as easily as the snot queen sings "Twinkle, twinkle..." then it's all worthwhile, isn't it?

In a society where democracy is a forbidden word and where people who question or criticize the government are locked up, killed or simply "disappear," is it any wonder that degradation and extreme discipline are valued tools in the Tiger Mama's toolbox as it is only through shame, subservience and extreme discipline that such regimes can survive.

But surely those tools have no use over here in the so called free world.

Surely we, the enlightened west, the so called "free world," can see all that is wrong with this way of thinking!

Apparently not.

In an ongoing poll by the Wall Street Journal of close to 35,000 readers, when asked which style of parenting (Permissive Western or demanding Eastern) they thought resulted in happier, more successful kids, 62.4% believed the Tiger Mother's regime to be the answer.

I only wonder if those readers have ever wondered exactly what the cost of such success truly is...

In the words of Dorothy Law Nolte, Ph.D:

Children Learn what they Live

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.
If children live with ridicule, they learn to feel shy.
If children live with jealousy, they learn to feel envy.
If children live with shame, they learn to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.
If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.
If children live with approval, they learn to like themselves.
If children live with recognition, they learn it is good to have a goal.
If children live with sharing, they learn generosity.
If children live with honesty, they learn truthfulness.
If children live with fairness, they learn justice.
If children live with kindness and consideration, they learn respect.
If children live with security, they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.
If children live with friendliness, they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

Copyright © 1972 by Dorothy Law Nolte

Three Cheers for Kisses!

The tiny one is 20 months old and until two nights ago, still fed to sleep. As I'm training as a doula, about to have a book published and hoping to go to a midwifery conference in Germany this fall, I thought it might be handy if someone other then myself (and my boobs) could send her off to slumber.

Not being one for controlled crying, I wanted to find a different way of helping my little monster fall off to sleep. I'd read somewhere about the whole "kissing" them to sleep thing. Unfortunately, not being the most diligent of students, I forgot the bulk of what I'd read and only remembered that it had something to do with kissing your baby at increasing intervals until they went to sleep.

So I lay her down and told her quite seriously that it was bedtime and that now mama was going to kiss her three times and she would then fall asleep. I leaned down and studiously delivered three quick kisses to her cheek.

She started to giggle.

I kissed her again.

She giggled louder.

I kept kissing her.

She started in on some pretty serious belly laughs.

The serious side of my brain, the side that reads sleep studies and understands concepts regarding dim lights and silent rooms, was horrified! Surely I was winding the child up and she would NEVER settle!

But the other part, the part that truly believes that by wishing on the first star of the night, my book has a better chance of being a success and that my children will be happy and healthy all their lives, said that perhaps this laughter, much like the crying that I did not want to do, would eventually wear her out....

That all of this wrestling and laughter and tickling and kissing combined with the dim lights and warm blankets might just maybe help to put my baby to sleep....

So we kissed and we wrestled and we tickled and we laughed...

I told her made up stories about "Spencer" (her favourite character on Balamory. )

I sang the alphabet, always a sure hit with her big sis.

No Joy.

I tried Twinkle, Twinkle. Again, a regular chart topper of the snot queen's.

Still, Nada.

And then, I hit pay dirt.

I started to sing softly... "What 's the story in Balamory, wouldn't you like to know?"

She lay stock still and looked up at me, eyes wide...

"What's the story in Balamory, Tell me and we will go..."

She smiled dreamily...

"La la la la la la la la la la la la la, Baaa Laaaa Mooooorrrryyyy"

Her eyes began to close....

A few minutes and several verses of my hap hazard version of the Balamory Theme song later, she was down for the count.

No stress for me and more importantly, no tears for her.

Even better, she fell asleep happy.

So for anyone out there wondering if their breastfed baby will ever fall asleep without the boob, there is tear free hope indeed :)

Forget controlled crying.

For us, it's uncontrolled laughter all the way.

It's been a Loooooong time!

It's been a loooooong time. A really long time. So long, that when I started to type "mammydiaries.blogspot.com" into my address bar, nothing happened.

Nothing.

I typed in M. I got loads about motorcyles (my husbands a biker. Rrrrrrawr!)

I typed in Ma. I got suggestions for mail and maps (we use those a lot)

I typed in mammy.

Nothing.

Nada.

My laptop had forgotten me.

There's something really sad about being forgotten by your computer. It's like running into an old friend who you haven't seen in a long time. An old friend with whom you've shared some pretty hard core memories and who you've trusted with your inner most secrets, the deepest, darkest parts of your soul only to run into them on the street unexpectedly and have them give you that confused, insincere smile that says "I have a feeling you're going to try and sell me something or ask me to donate money to a worthy -ish cause that I reeeeally don't want to donate to but am too polite to tell you to f"£k off and leave me alone because to be perfectly honest, I have no interest ion speaking to you, letting alone giving you my money, which I've already earmarked for a quick cup of coffee on my way home, so please, make this less painful for both of us and GO AWAY!" (Seriously, I could never be a charity collector, I'm not nearly hard enough.)

Anyway, let's just say that it's pretty upsetting.

I suppose I owe you a bit of an explanation, but I really don't know where to begin.

Have I been a bit overwhelmed at times by my gorgeous, wonderful babies who insist on knowing exactly when the front door has been left unlocked and making a run for it leaving me running down the road after a 20 month old fireball who is giggling maniacally at her newly acquired freedom and her mama's rapidly escalating adrenaline levels?

Partly (big partly actually. The child is fast and has no fear.)

Have I been more then a little bit consumed by the whole natural birthing/breastfeeding movement and yet afraid to blog about it for fear of offending friends/family/anyone who doesn't feel the same way?

Yup!

Have I been working on "The Book" and figuring that time normally spent blogging could be better spent getting the blasted thing banged into shape?

Hell yeah! I'm aiming for a flipping launch date of April 2nd and still have piles and piles of work to go!

So yeah, I've been busy. And then time just went on. And on. And on. Until I didn't know if anyone would even care if I didn't blog again.

And then I got a letter.

And another letter.

And another.

And another.

(You see where this is going...)

And then this evening, as I was replying to a post on my favourite parenting site, I realized I wasn't just replying to the post, I was blogging...

So here, for your reading pleasure, I give you my reasons for enjoying co sleeping, as replied to mydennis's original post entitled "Cosleeping" on www.rollercoaster.ie
*For the unitiatiated, dd1 and dd2 are internet speak for dear daughter 1 and dear daughter 2. DH = Dear husband.


I loooooooove co sleeping. Like a lot of you, I was totally against it when I was pregnant on my first daughter. I had slept in a cot, My brothers and sisters had slept in a cot, and my babies were going to sleep in a cot. In a separate room. With black out blinds and a white noise machine for comfort. My husband's plan of having the baby in our room for the first little while horrified me. The bedroom was OUR space! We needed to nourish OUR relationship too! What if the baby got older and woke up in the middle of the night and woke up (in it's cot of course) to see us having sex?!?!?!? YUCK! What a turn off.

And then I had dd1. Everything I ever thought I "knew" about babies (I used to work in creches and as a nanny) went out the window. WHOOSH went the blackout blinds and WHOOSH went the thought of a white noise machine. WHOOSH went the nursery and finally, three nights into my hospital stay with my new born baby girl tucked up tight inside my robe, WHOOSH went all my beliefs about babies, independence, and cots.

7 Months later, we were pregnant on Dd2 so obviously, somewhere along the line, WHOOSH went the idea of sex being off the menu with a baby in the room!

Three years later and we are four in the bed. Well, beds, to be perfectly accurate... Our room is now one giant wall to wall bed with a King size in the middle and a single smooshed on either side.

I love co sleeping. I love being surrounded by my family in the night and hearing all of their different breathing sounds around me. From Daddy's rattling snore, to my oldest girl's gentle purr and my youngest's - so quiet I sometimes hold my ear to her face to make sure they're there - breaths.

I love being there for them if they wake in the night, that they never have to cry because I hear them long before. I love watching them wake up in the morning. Dd1 wakes with a smile, rubs the sleep from her eyes and pushes back her fringe before telling us the same story every morning, "I was asleep, and then I woke up!"

I love watching dd2, generally a little less impressed then her sister to be awake (she takes after her dad in that respect!) but she quickly shakes it off and after a quick cuddle and feed, it's off to find her big sister and then time to play.

To be perfectly honest, I can't imagine a better way to wake up...

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

I know it's a little early, but I don't know where else to turn. Do you remember last year I asked you for a little patience? Well, what I should have done was to ask you for a heaping dose of the stuff as I've gone and run clean out of it!

I mean seriously! I am going mad. As much as I love my girls, they are quickly turning my once lustrous locks a cold, steel, grey. My blood pressure is spiking on an hourly basis and my teeth are just about ground to nothing from the stress of it all.

Take for example tonight; After removing the tiny one from her precarious perch on top of the wheel of the old fashioned pram in the sitting room, which she was balancing on while trying to reach the empty cardboard box that sat within it, I headed back to the kitchen to continue screwing the child locks onto the cupboard doors.

Ten seconds later, my mammy senses were tingling and I went back into the sitting room only to find that my intrepid explorer had returned to her perch the moment I'd left and retrieved from the pram her true goal, my sewing kit.

As the snot queen merrily danced about the couch with a pair of scissors and her red headed cohort ran laughing around the room with a handfuls of needles, a red mist descended over my vision and I made a mental dash to the patience bank only to find it was empty. The well had run dry.

I lost it.

I cursed and swore and raced about the place grabbing sharp implements out of chubby hands and throwing my sewing equipment back into it's box with a vigour that was perhaps a little stronger then necessary.

I shouted and screamed about safety and danger and how they were NOT under ANY circumstances, to touch mommy's sewing box. The tiny one, who had already moved on to her next target, didn't take much notice of my ranting, but her sister did.

Her sister, who hadn't gone near the box until someone else had opened it, and who had been so happy to see me when I came into the sitting room and showed me her treasure, was now bent over the couch crying her heart out.

I felt horrible.

I bent down and pulled her into my lap and made the best comfort noises I could while guilt ate a ginormous hole in my belly.

Yes, what they'd been doing was dangerous. And Yes, they'd needed to be stopped, but did I really need to lose it like that?

So Santa, if you're listening right now and you've got a few spare bags of patience lying about the place, I could really use a few of them right about now.

Sincerely,

Mammy x

You Put WHAT?!?!? WHERE??!?!?

Pre-Children, a blog title like that would have sent my mind racing for the dirtiest, raunchiest corner it could find.

Post children, the first images that come to mind undoubtedly involve mobile phones or other valuables of an electronic nature and a certain machine that goes flush.

Yesterday however, it was a recipe that had me asking that very question...

I was on the hunt for something quick, easy and healthy when I came across a recipe for quesadillas (yum!) that a quick glance showed to have no more then 5 ingredients.

Wraps/Corn Tortillas (yup)

A nice strong cheddar (sounds good)

mushrooms (ooh! Nice!)

jalapeno peppers (cause some like it hot!)

and bananas (uh...ex squeeze me? Come again?)

Yup. You heard me.

Bananas.

As in the fruit.

Pardon me for my culinary ignorance, but to be perfectly honest, the thought of bananas and cheese did not exactly float my boat. While my mouth did begin to water, it was more in the "I think I'm going to be sick" way as opposed to the more traditional "oooooh! Gotta get me some of that!"

So yes, I was more then a bit skeptical.

But then I continued to read the recipe and the woman who contributed it confessed to having the same doubts when she first saw it. she then went on to guarantee that the sweetness of the banana actually set off the cheesiness of the cheddar and that with a bit of salsa or guacamole on the side, the dish was a real winner.

So I gave it a try.

Mad and all as it sounds, she was right.

The banana and cheese quesadilla (even seeing it written together is just wrong) was a hit.

The gruesome twosome cleared their plates and asked for more.

My husband, who turned an odd shade of green when I told him what we were having, gamely gave it a go and surprised even himself by actually liking it (although he did say that he would have enjoyed it more had he not known about the bananas.)

I ate all of my own and then (because they're just so darn easy!) made another batch tonight to eat while watching the X Factor results show where, even odder then bananas and cheese co existing in a most harmonious way, Wagner lives to "sing" (and I use the word loosely) another week.

Will wonders never cease?

Now, for your culinary enjoyment, I give you....

Banana and Cheese Quesadilla

Place half of your wraps/tortillas on a baking sheet (or 2) sprinkle with cheese, mushrooms, jalapenos (opt.) and um... bananas.

Cover with remaining wraps/tortillas and place in the oven on about 180c/ 350f/gas mark 5 or 6 for 10 - 15 minutes or until cheese is melted

Serve with salsa and Guacamole and enjoy!

No, seriously, you WILL enjoy these!

The Price of Peace

It is 8:00 pm.

Miracle of miracles, the Snot Queen is not running rings around the house high on batteries (or whatever it is that she runs on!) Instead, about a half hour ago, she disappeared upstairs with her dad for stories and bedtime.

Now, she did not go quietly. If I recall correctly there was much objection and demands for juice and "Ballerina Dolly," who is not, as the name may suggest a ballerina or any sort of dancer for that matter. She is instead the armless, knickerless, rather manly looking knock off barbie doll we picked up at a shopping mall for 3 euro last Saturday when we were naive enough to leave the house with her doll buggy but no dolly to ride in it.

Her wardrobe consists of a rather garish (is there any other kind?) silver mini dress and a pair of what, were she a real life woman, would probably be 9 inch hooker heels in scarlett red.

Very age appropriate.

Combine this with the pink faux fur coat she likes to regularly sport around the house whilst wearing mammy's heels that are far too high for even mammy to walk in and not much else, and I occasionally get a sinking feeling in my belly when I think about my eldest daughter's future career prospects.

But that is soul destroying fodder for another day...

Tonight is all about the sleep. The Snot Queen you see, has given up her daytime nap.

In exchange for a slight (re: MASSIVE) tendency to turn into something of an antichrist between the hours of 6 and 7 (am and pm that is) we now have a child who falls asleep each night at 7:30pm with nothing more then a couple of stories from daddy and the brittle presence of a plastic, amputee, drag queen to keep her company.

It took 2 years, 9 months and the better part of my sanity, but as I sit here writing these words and waiting for my husband to come back from the shop with a celebratory bottle of white and some cheese n onion crisps and , I can honestly say...

It was worth it.

Style Watch

The Snot Queen has taken to dressing herself. She has been at this for a while, but lately has taken a much more militant stance when it comes to what she will (and more to the point what she WON'T wear)

Currently in are dresses. Not just dresses, but party dresses. Princess dresses. The kind of dresses sensible mothers keep wraped in plastic and save for special occasions. These have become her day to day wear.

A trip to the library? Hmmmmm.... Perhaps that little number she wore for our wedding last year...

Going to the park? Oooooh! The swanky New Year's outfit my Aunt bought her!


A trip to the shopping centre is deemed worthy of nothing less then the flamenco dress my sister in law picked up for her in Spain last year.


And her absolute favourite, wear it every day that it isn't in the wash, worn so many times the black velvet polka dots are now small grey smudges, is her Christmas eve dress from last year. Paired with a kicky little pair of bright pink sneakers and she's ready for anything.

Right now she's downstairs eating "Dragon Cereal" (better known as Tesco "Rice Snaps") whilst wearing a very mod looking pink and black belted mini dress complete with black leggings, a fluffy pink jacket with teddy bear ears and a winter hat.

Gok Wan, watch out.

Thoughts on The Day

Almost 12 hours later and I am still buzzing.

It was amazing. I was truly overwhelmed by the whole experience. I honestly don't think that I have even finished absorbing everything that happened today, but I'll do my best to write it out here.

About two weeks ago, I had the bright idea to sign up Cork City as part of the 2010 Quintessential Breastfeeding Challenge.

What with Ireland having the lowest breastfeeding rates in Europe (we are however, top of the charts when it comes to the production of powdered infant formula!) and with many Irish mothers citing "being uncomfortable feeding in public" as reason not to breastfeed, this seemed like a great chance to:

a) show the country that public nursing is not "obscene," nor is it comparable with "pissing in the street," as one noted Irish Late night talk host and early morning radio presenter once suggested. and

b) create a supportive atmosphere for breastfeeding mothers to come and meet other breastfeeding mothers.

Well, the entire thing took on a life of it's own and over the course of the last week I have been inundated with calls from the media. We have been featured in every major newspaper, approached by two television networks and I was even interviewed on the radio (where one listener later texted in to say that my feeding the snot queen was "vulgar.")

One of the main questions people asked was, "How many mums to you expect to turn out on the day?"

Media Answer: "We have about 50 - 60 confirmed and are waiting on further numbers!"

Honest Answer: " There's a good chance it will just be me, my neighbor and a creepy looking man in a dirty trenchcoat taking "unofficial" photos for his non existent website."

I could never in a million years have predicted what really happened.

At 9:30, people started arriving. I figured that when things died down, I'd get the chance to sit and have a coffee, maybe grab a bite to eat.

They never died down. The line kept growing and we quickly ran out of sign up sheets and had to start writing on the backs of the old ones.

When 11:00am rolled around, we had 97 mothers, 106 nursing children, their older siblings and a strong showing of supportive husbands, partners and family members.

We spilled out of our allocated area and took over the entire upstairs section of the food court.

There were nursing mothers everywhere.

It was beautiful.

There was no shame, no worry, no desperate shushing of a child in the hopes that they would wait until you got home or found the "Nursing Room/change room/wheelchair toilet" which is generally a lonely place with a bad smell.

There was no looking around to make sure no one was watching before you latched your child on for a feed.

There was no apologizing to companions as you popped on a hungry child as if you were doing something wildly inappropriate and they were being extremely gracious for overlooking your public indecency.

There were just mothers and babies, families out for a good day. People mingled and chatted as though they'd known each other for years and the children played and slept and nursed and did all the other things that children do.

At one point, I was standing chatting away to another mother when the tiny one ran up crying as she'd taken a tumble and wanted a cuddle. Without missing a beat and without any awkward pauses, I whisked up my 28lb, 15 month old toddler, latched her on and continued on chatting as though nothing out of the usual had happened.

It was amazing.

It wasn't about "bottle bashing" and it wasn't about berating non nursing mothers for the choices that they've made.

Instead, it was about showing the country that nursing is normal. That the primary function of breasts is to feed children and that there is nothing wrong with making it an accepted part of public life.

Today we had almost one hundred women feeding their babies simulataneously in a shopping center in the heart of Cork City as though there was absolutely nothing odd about it. And guess what?

There wasn't.

Thank You

I would like to say a HUGE thank you to the 97 women, over 100 children and all of the proud papas who filled the mezzanine area of Mahon Point to bursting this morning at 11:00am. We more then surpassed our goals! To put it in perspective, last year in Ireland, around 75,000 babies were born. Of these, 41,250 were latched on after birth, 21,000 were still nursing at 4 months and 938 were still being exclusively breastfed at 6 months. To get 97 breastfeeding mothers and their children to simulataneously nurse in a shopping center in Cork City with ten days notice (a number which is equal to 10% of the babies who are exclusively feeding at 6 month) is nothing short of AMAZING!!!!! I am so proud of us all. It was incredible, it was beautiful, it was Natural. Most of all, IT WAS NOT OBSCENE!!!!! To the many, many mums who turned up on the day and to everyone rooting for us at home, to everyone who travelled from as far afield as Dublin and Galway and those from up the road, to the mothers of newborns, wobblers, toddlers and school age kids who came out and nursed their babies because it's the normal thing to do, Thank you. From the bottom of my heart (and boobs;D) I thank you.

Irish Women aim to Set Breastfeeding Record!!!

I have organized "AN EVENT" (Please note the use of capslock to portray importance of said event.)

As part of World Breastfeeding Week (is it just me or does this week seem to happen fairly often?) I have signed up Cork City as a location for the 2010 Quintessence Breastfeeding Challenge.

As I have been holed away at the computer and thus dodging my motherly duties for the better part of the last three hours, I'm simply going to have to do some cutting and pasting of my oh so fancy press release to fill you in on the details.

On October 2, 2010, breastfeeding women and children at sites around the globe will compete to set the record for the most children breastfeeding at one time.

Why this challenge? Breastfeeding has many well-documented benefits including better health for both mothers and babies. However, many women fail to meet their own breastfeeding goals and wean their children prematurely, well before meeting recommended guidelines. Two of the biggest hurdles for mothers continue to be lack of support and marginalization by the community.

Ireland has one of the lowest rates of breastfeeding in the world, if not the lowest of all. The Quintessence Breastfeeding challenge is a great way to show support for breastfeeding mothers and to reinforce the message that not only is breastfeeding the best way of feeding a child, it is the NORMAL way of feeding a child.

The Quintessence Breastfeeding Challenge began in 2001 in British Columbia Canada with 856 children at 26 sites. By 2008, there were 7632 children in nineteen countries at over 300 sites with a total of over 20,000 supporters.In 2009 even though the H1N1 pandemic coincided with the Challenge,there were 4,766 children at 246 sites in 21 countries. We hope for even greater support in 2010!

This event takes place as part of the celebration of World Breastfeeding Week. The theme for World Breastfeeding Week is Breastfeeding – just 10 steps referring to a WHO/UNICEF document which outlines in ten steps, key ways in which health care facilities and communities can support women to achieve their breastfeeding goals. One key step is welcoming mothers to breastfeed anytime!

The Breastfeeding Challenge is sponsored by the Quintessence Foundation, a non-profit group providing education to parents and professionals about breastfeeding.
The Cork area challenge is set for Saturday, October 2nd at 11:00 am in Mahon Point.

Check out (and Like!!!! Please, please like it and pass it along to your friends!) my hastily made facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/search/?q=breastway&init=quick&sid=0.6764741685255888#!/group.php?gid=155336247828160&v=wall

New Look, Same great Taste...

In case you haven't noticed, I've been having more then a little trouble keeping up with my blog of late. It started waaaaaaay back in the spring of the year when I was nominated and then subsequently shortlisted for, an "Irish Blog Award."

It continued on through the summer when one by one, bloggers I'd grown to love packed it in and said goodbye to the blogging world.

I thought a lot about packing it in myself. I mean really, there's only so much I can say about teething and night wakings and all the other joys that go with raising a toddler and having said it all before with the snot queen, it really isn't so much of a shock when it comes to the tiny one (who incidently is cutting all four of her molars -
simultanaeously.)

But I'm not ready to say good bye.

I'm not ready to throw in the blogging towel.

Instead, I'm having a re-vamp. Doing a bit of the old Trinny and Susannah if you will. Taking a new path, but still heading in the same old, mother and child friendly direction.

So stay tuned, because there's life in the old girl yet...