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!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
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
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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...
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...
Thursday, March 31, 2011
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
Thursday, February 17, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
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.
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.
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