Posts Tagged ‘stay-at-home-mum’

Why This Mum Is NOT Cool With Back To School!

All These Cartoons About Mothers Overjoyed at the Kids Going Back to School.

Why THIS Mum Isn't Cool With Back To School

Call me a jumbo dumbo but WHY is everyone so excited?!  Granted, my kids have driven me bonkers in other ways this summer (leaving their underwear ALL over the house, never switching a single fan off after leaving a room and hardly ever remembering their sunglasses or sunhats in this intense Mediterranean heat) BUT I’m still not filled with glee at them going back to school.

If you’ve read my post about the Exhausted School Mother you’ll have a pretty good idea of:

Why I’m Dreading the New School Year.

In the space of just one week of the first term last year, I managed to:
– mistake day two of the cycle for day one
– dressed K in P.E. clothes when they didn’t have P.E.
– dropped them off late twice
– left K’s folder at home twice
– forgot to listen to Dreamy D read his book
– didn’t get round to buying the mini whiteboard requested by his teacher
– and ‘overlooked’ the twelve – yes TWELVE (that’s what you get for having so many kids) – forms that needed completing and signing.

In fairness, the latter was sort of intentional: I ‘overlooked’ them until I had a sufficient supply of wine to help me cope with completing the whole damned lot. But let me explain:

Why I’m Not Putting up the Bunting to Celebrate The Start of Another Academic Year in:

back-to-school-featured

 

1) INSTEAD OF LYING IN TIL LATE O’CLOCK enjoying the peace because MDK creep downstairs quietly and get their own breakfast and then switch on the TV (yes my kids do this because they know Mummy would love to raiser her kids on zero screen time but #LetsHaveAGoodLaughAboutThatOne)

I NOW HAVE TO GET UP EARLY AND FACE THE DAY. Anyone who’s ever met me will know I have never coped well with this and cannot gel with the “I’ll sleep when I die” motto because when I’m dead I won’t have the satisfaction of waking up and looking back at a great night’s sleep because I will be dead…

You KNOW I”m right (unless you’re up half the night with your kids in which case, sorry, sleep when you’re dead).

2) INSTEAD OF YELLING AT THEM FOR not being able to pack a single swimming essential or beach item the entire school holidays despite practically living on the beach every long hot Maltese summer

I AM NOW YELLING AT THEM FOR not being able to put their reading book/homework/school folder/lunch box – in fact anything – in their bags despite two of them having attended school for several years. “Ooh I wonder where they get that from then Prabs…” Stop it. “You know yelling doesn’t achieve anything right Prabs?” I said stop it.

3) IN PLACE OF ENDLESSLY RUNNING AROUND the pool/beach searching for their swimming goggles, flip flops etc after a day of swimming,

I WILL BE ENDLESSLY GOING BACK THROUGH THE SCHOOL GATES every afternoon to go up to the classroom (ha! classroom x 3) just as everyone else is trying to come through the gates the other way, to try and find water bottles, hats, clothing etc

4) I HAVE SWAPPED TWO MONTHS OF SINKING INTO A SUN LOUNGER after mentally high-fiving myself for my kickass organisation because I’ve packed everything we need for a Summer’s day out [see 28 Reasons],

FOR NINE MONTHS OF SINKING INTO DESPAIR having actually high-fived the teacher because I’ve remembered everything from sports gear to school trip money to art class clothes, only for her to say “You remembered his library book right?” following it up with “Oh bless…shall I move in with you to help, love?”

Seriously…this actually has happened!

5) INSTEAD OF REALISING I’VE HARDLY GOT ANY FOOD IN THE HOUSE but it’s no biggie cos I can jolly well give them pancakes if I want to (or another bowl of cereal)

I NOW HAVE TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER AKA actually planning lunches and snacks…oh God the planning…it just kills me.

6) RATHER THAN JUST ENJOYING THE BENEFITS OF MDK relaxing, playing, not getting in my hair at all and being super low maintenance housemates

I WILL BE SPENDING FIVE DAYS a week ferrying them around the island to tennis, football, swimming and choir (well alright, not quite ‘around the island’…more like within a one mile radius..but FIVE days MAN!).

7) AND DON’T GET ME STARTED on all the time spent trawling through every computer I’ve owned trying to find old photos for some project or another, spending my mornings running around buying items for various school productions and my evenings gritting my teeth doing internet research to help them create – oh hang on, help me create on their behalf – presentations.

8) AND DEFINITELY DON’T GET ME STARTED on…cue Pyscho’s shower scene music……MATHS HOMEWORK HELL!

9) BUT WORST OF ALL, THERE IS MY OWN TOTAL BEWILDERMENT OVER HOW LITTLE I GET DONE DURING THE DAY now that Cheeky K is finally at big school with her siblings.

I honestly struggle to the point of depression over not being able to find enough days or hours in the week to fit in the housework, school run, blogging, after-school activities and (dare I say it) some exercise…and I’m a stay at home mum for goodness sake! What’s my excuse?! Working mothers have it far worse; alright the blog is my work and I take it seriously but it’s not the same as having an actual job with an employer and official working hours and all that jazz.

 

I Can Feel a Blog Post Coming on About Trying to Manage it all.

It will be very short post and will consist mainly of me crying all over the computer and typing “Just. Can’t.” and possibly ending with a plea for free chocolate.

So no, dear reader, I am not shouting Hooray at going back to school. (Well silently mouthing it at the thought of going for a coffee alone I admit…)

Can you relate?  If so, what’s the bit you dread most about the school year?

 

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14 Women, 1 Girls’ Trip and a Lot of Boobs

So early December a bunch of us – and by bunch I mean 13 of us (HOW we managed to pull that off I still don’t know) – went to Dublin on a girls’ trip to visit a friend of ours and let our mummy hair down. Oh and ‘went to Dublin’ is slightly inaccurate. More like…descended on Dublin and its good people. As you can imagine there were a fair amount of excited ladies amongst us…well there was an uber excited lady amongst me anyway. What can I say? Swapping the dishes, laundry and small-island life for four days of fun with my friends while Hubster did Daddy day care got me a little excited.

In fact I think my Ryanair ticket should have had this printed along the bottom:
WARNING: Leaving your husband and 3 kids behind for the first time ever and boarding a plane without a single baby wipe, snack or crayon may lead to increased vodka consumption, conversations with total strangers, extreme excitement and a lot of boobs. Not that I don’t love my Papa Baby and the three kiddie babies I made with him but ya know…sometimes a momma just has to have a break.

Anyways, as you can imagine there were a fair few funny lines – or boobs – over the course of the trip. Can my girlfriends remember any of them? Ha! They may all be younger than me but apparently my memory is better than theirs…:) (Yeah yeah, I may not name or picture them but I reserve the right to make fun of them a tiny bit.) So most of the following funny ‘scenes’ and lines from the trip are as remembered by me even though there were some absolute crackers from the rest of the gang including some infamous ones which I’d best save for another time.

So without further ado, les voila:

14-Women,-1-Girls'-Trip-and-boobs

 

Plane Talking
Me: The stewardess gave me too much milk and sugar. Apparently I’m not sweet enough or white enough.

Me: I was wondering where that high pitched squealing was coming from. It’s me. Those involuntary squeals of excitement…they’re coming out of ME! [Before apologising to the bemused passenger in the next seat.] Sorry, it’s the first time I’ve been away without my kids.

Me: Oh please, I’m not getting dressed up for the school run. I did too many years of the make up thing and the smart clothes thing to do that now.
Anonymous: You don’t have to wear a party dress…just clothes that fit.

Air Steward: I thought I was funny but YOU are hilarious!
Me: [Silent nod…all that was needed…he knew he was beaten.]

The ‘This Could Either Turn Into a Great Time Or Go Horribly Wrong’ Night
Me: I can’t walk in these shoes and I can’t sit down in these trousers but I’m gonna wear them cos I can’t wear this stuff on the school run dammit.

Guy in Club: What’s your name?
Me: Oh boy, here we go…Prabs.
Guy: Prat?
[The rest of it…well you had to be there really.]

Manager of bar: There’s a place you should go. It’s your kind of place.
Me: Oh great. What is it?
Manager: Lillie’s Bordello
Me: So basically you’re telling me to go to a brothel?

Guy in Bar: Hi I’m Colm
Me: Oh my friend went out with a guy called Colm. He was a real ****head.
Guy: Oh so I’m a ****head by association then?
Me: No not at all! [Cue me getting stuck in a full headlock with said guy and the voice of Marilyn behind me]
Marilyn: Oi! What are you doing to my little Indian friend?!
Colm: Are you being racist?
Marilyn: NO!!
Colm: Good. Mind you I’m not sure which is worse, casual racism or being called a ****head for being a Colm

Me: Oh my God there’s a women in the bathroom taking selfies…alone! [clearly the ‘self’ part of selfie had not hit me yet]
Great Dane & Selfie Star: [no words…just guilty stares]

Me: Jeez I’m stuffed. Can’t eat another thing. Did you say they had lemon tart on the menu?

 

THAT Kardashian Dumb and Dumber Episode at the Trinity College Library
Me: What exactly is this Book of Kells?
Great Dane: No idea.
Seriously? Swede: Me neither.
Me: Man…at least you two have an excuse. I’m British. I think I’m meant to know.

Me: So where’s this book anyway? Oh my God your hair is gorgeous!
Great Dane: This is how it looks normally if I don’t use a straightener.
[Cue 10 minute conversation about curly versus straight hair and other hair-related talk whilst walking straight past most of the exhibit]

Seriously? Swede: This place is just full of books…lots and lots of books.
Great Dane [in a low voice]: It’s a library.

Me: Hang on, where was the Book of Kells then?
Seriously? Swede and Great Dane: I think that was it.
Me: What? That tiny book?!

Me: We are standing in one of the most historical buildings in Dublin and you want to take a selfie?

Great Dane: Oh look it’s that Bacon guy [sorry Francis Bacon…you can’t take us anywhere]

All 3 of us: THAT was the exhibit?
Seriously? Swede: Seriously that was it? For 10 euros we should at least be allowed to TOUCH the books!
Great Dane: At least we got a selfie out of it. So basically we paid 10 euros each for a selfie?
Seriously? Swede: That was a 30 euro selfie!

 

Ladies Who Shop
Me: I’m not leaving this shopping centre without knee high leather boots if it kills me. [At one point there were 4 people with me in a shoe shop advising me…looking very jaded.] Can I wear red leather boots at my age?

Great Dane: Okay girls, we need to exit this shop in style. Follow me. [Picture jumping out of the store legs astride whilst holding imaginary horse’s reins. If only Freud were around…]

Crooner in Brown Thomas: Yes that’s right ladies…it really is me…I really AM singing. And you really are staring…

 

Bar Blah Blah
Me: Vodka martini…that’s the one that’s shaken not stirred. No wonder I can’t drink those things. I’m usually shaken and very stirred.

Marilyn: So funny watching Great Dane getting ready doing the boob test last night.
Me: What’s that?
Marilyn: You know, when you jump and down to see if your top will stay on once you’re out dancing.
Me: Oh. And did it?
Marilyn: No!!

Me: My God if someone else clears my drink away, I’ll go nuts.
Classy Bird: Is that your drink over there?
Me: Oh…yes…

Shoe Addict: Have you ordered yet?
Me: I keep trying but he keeps telling me to wait as they’re busy. Please tell me, we did actually leave Malta right?

Bartender to fellow bartender [as several of us are ordering drinks]: I LOVE MY JOB!

Several: Are there any karaoke bars near here?
Barman at the Duke: [There are no words to describe the look on his face. Actually yes there is one: disgust].

 

Taxi Talk
Driver: I’d love it if a bunch of female friends come over to visit my wife. I’d be out with them myself. I keep telling her, I’m too much man for one woman anyway.

Several: Are we there yet? God we’re worse than our kids.

Me: I left 4 kids at home in Malta; I didn’t come on this trip to babysit grown women. No hang on…I’ve got 3 kids.

Anonymous: Can I just say one more thing about my kids?
Several people in unison: No!

Anonymous: It’s better not to wear underwear when clubbing.

Driver: So what are you ladies doing in Dublin?
Several: We’ve come to visit a friend who lives here.
Driver: 13 of you? That’s not a visit. That’s an invasion.

Selfie Gal: Considering there were 14 of us, I have to say there was very little drama.

Various
Anoymous: It’s not gossiping. It’s just talking about someone when they’re not in the room.

Marilyn: Is it just my imagination or has there been a LOT of boob talk on this trip? By the way your boobs look big in this pic.
Me: There you go, yes, there’s a lot of boob talk on this trip. And thank you.

Roomie 2: Why is this picture so dark and grey?
Smoky Swede: Well it’s a dark grey day…

Me: Ha, I’ve just received a text from my hubby telling me the kids are in bed and he’s going to leave the kitchen til tomorrow as he’s too tired to do the dishes tonight. As if I care. NOT MY PROBLEM FOR WHOLE DAYS!

Shoe Addict: Are you going to eat all that?
Me: Just watch me.
Shoe Addict: Man, I love a woman who can eat.

Post Trip Analysis
Seriously? Swede: I’m almost sure we all look great in this one [about the fuzziest photo ever taken]

Pic of me at bottom of Trinity College Libary

Seriously? Swede: Is that Prabs going “NOOOOOO the Book of Kells exhibit is closed!” right before she starts sobbing?
Smoky Swede: That is the little Indian; she practically showed up on all my pics from Trinity.

Me: Guess what? I was on time to school today. 3 hours sleep a night for the last 4 nights and I was ON TIME!
Lithuanian Lovely: Wow! But irish time right?
Me: Noooooo really. On time. Marilyn is my witness. If it keeps happening, I may have to give back that fridge magnet about Irish time.
Lithuanian Lovely: Don’t get me wrong. I’m very proud but actually you only had one kid to pack and get through the door this morning meaning 67% less work.

Classy Bird: Those 2 girls dancing on Sunday night! No matter how drunk, it is never acceptable to dry hump a couch!!

Selfie Gal: Last night I woke up every 3 hours. I think my body got used to only 3 hours sleep in Dublin.
Me: I also have realised after a lifetime believing I needed 9 hours of sleep a night, apparently I only need 3. All that time I’ve been wasting sleeping.

That’s it folks. Well it’s not..if you’re super nice to me, I might just write the uncensored version next time…

Phew! Race Done. And Stretch….

Finish Line Relief

Thank God it’s all over

So that’s a second half marathon under my belt. I had decided not to write ‘yet another’ post on the race but then it dawned on me that after writing various posts on the training and build-up (albeit from a tongue in cheek perspective because it’s not exactly a full marathon after all), it would be a little odd to say nothing about how the day itself went. Then a comment from someone who read Race Day…The Lie-In Has to Wait convinced me to stop debating already and just get on with it. I suppose I could say, well the starting signal sounded and I put one foot in front of the other and repeated that til I got to the finish line.

But I’m not going to do that. So:

They need to design a nappy (diaper) for female runners

They need to design a diaper for female runners

“Oh no…Not again!”

because so help me God am I sick to death of running races needing the toilet from start to finish or what? If you’re not wild about reading about pee-related issues, feel free to skip to the next point. The rest of you, let me break it down for you: Half Mara 2013, went to the toilet about ten times before the race and still needed the toilet 90 seconds into the run. Pfffff. Gozo 8 miler 2013, same. This Half Mara, got in the queue for the toilets and had to step out of the queue and go find my friends at the starting line or else risk a repeat of last year where I couldn’t get to them in time for the starting gun because of the long queue for the toilets.  I simply can’t stand stopping to use porta-loos as I don’t want to lose a second off my time (although I’m sure that attitude is counter-productive because surely running with a happier and erm emptier bladder would help my speed?!) and I’m just not good at doing the Paula ‘pulling over to the side of the road’ thang for reasons of modesty. Any of my friends who have just read the last part are screaming with laughter at the idea of me trying to pass myself off as a bashful lady.


Running like the police are chasing you really helps

Running Like The Police Are Chasing You Helps on Race Day

My pace during my training runs (if you can call running twice a week training) was predicting that I was barely good enough to get through the finish at 2 hours 15 (only 5 minutes up from last year’s half mara) and yet the official race result has me grinning from ear to ear.  Alright, so maybe my little legs weren’t exactly moving at warp speed – I don’t do much at warp speed apart from open a new jar of nutella as soon as I’m back in the car after leaving the supermarket-  but I’ll take that result thanks (see below).


Why oh why is there so little ‘atmosphere’?

Come on you silent spectators...if the organisers can do a good job every year organising, can't you muster up a little more of that famous Mediterranean passion and enthusiasm spectating?

“Why on earth are we clapping? We still have 9 miles to go!”

I almost left this bit out for fear of being verbally punched in the face. So before any local seasoned Malta mara runners wade in here and tell me off for being critical, I’m simply saying that from my limited experience of two half maras here, I find it really odd that there are so few people lining the route for huge portions of the race. I guess you can rationalise that part and simply accept that most people want to be near the start and finish lines for obvious reasons. However, the thing I really don’t get at all is why – with the exception of those spectators at the start and finish – the majority of those few who do come out and ‘support’ and ‘watch’ the race along some of the route are so lacking in enthusiasm.

Okay, so there are small pockets of people doing their best to cheer you on and a few bands playing but for the most part, many just stand at the side of the road staring silently without so much as a wave, cheer, fist punch or ‘keep going’ between them. For goodness sake, I actually started clapping myself out of sheer desperation (the proof is in the pic). You’re out there, giving it your all running your socks off all the way to the finish line and you look over only to see a bunch of miserable faces and you just think, ‘honestly…go home…you’re no good to me’.

I know that comparing events from different countries is pointless because that’s just it: they’re different (size-wise, culture-wise etc). Also, I realise that despite Malta’s full and half maras apparently getting bigger year on year, as this is a tiny island obviously it is never going to emulate the biggies like London or New York in terms of sheer scale and consequently atmosphere.  But come on you silent spectators…if the organisers can do such a good job every year of organising, can’t you muster up a little more of that famous Mediterranean passion and enthusiasm when you’re spectating?


No idea how my runner chick friend found me at 19k

Running With a Running Buddy

“Where are my kids? I can’t see my kids!”

after she ‘pulled over’ twice from 11k but I’m sure glad she did. Those last 2k may not have hurt as badly as they did last year but they still hurt. I do love running with my tunes but sometimes it helps to have a running buddy. And if you’re wondering why she’s smiling while I’m grimacing here, it’s probably because she had the sense to do those two pitstops earlier while I stupidly pushed on through the needing to pee and was in proper agony by the time this pic was taken near the finish 🙂


“Children do as their parents do, not as their parents say”

Cute Things Kids Do

Although this adorable note from Dreamy D is factually incorrect – as I am neither a fast runner nor the best mum ever – it warms my heart that over the last couple of years, my kids have witnessed their stay-at-home-mum trying something new (that she wasn’t sure she’d be any good at because she was the least sporty kid at school and spent half a lifetime with knee problems) achieving a few cool results along the way. I’m not talking about teaching them to compete against others. For me, it’s about teaching them to set their minds on something, try hard and achieve something, small or big (and if they don’t achieve it…at least they tried right?). It’s about the personal victory. Not the “I want a medal to prove I’m bigger/better/faster than you” mentality. But the “It’s nice to have a medal in the drawer  proving that I’m bigger/better/faster than I myself thought I could ever be” mentality. Surely that’s setting a good example right? And erm…technically…I am the fastest runner and the best mum in MY house. So just let me own that alright?


How the heck did I manage to wear these just hours after the race?!

Who Says Runners Don't Have Sexy Feet?

Who Says Runners Don’t Have Sexy Feet?

 

What I love most about finishing a race:

Post-Race Shower

Happiness Is a Long Hot Shower

 

(apart from getting a shiny medal and hugs from la famille, I mean).


Looks like we’ve started a tradition with the Half Marathon dinner

 half mara dinner

If so, I think the ‘Thank Frank It’s All Over Til Next Year – Oh No There’s the Gozo 8-miler –  Crap, I Need a Tequila!’ Dinner is a more appropriate name. Impractical but accurate (and I only wrote this part as an excuse to post up this pic of the ever-lovely K.L. and T.K.).


I’m not sure if I found my competitive gene or if my competitive gene found me.

Finish Line Medal

Struggling to stand after 21k…and this heavy medal isn’t helping

 

Who cares? Either way, got the job done faster than I expected. Happy.

 

Thanksgiving is…A Piece of Cake

We Brits may not celebrate Thanksgiving but it doesn’t mean I can’t stop for a moment and take stock of all the good things in my life.  For all my flaws, one of my good points is that I usually manage to find some reason almost every day to drink from the cup of gratitude.  I know, I know..horrendously cheesy but it’s true!  (Mental note to self: sit down and make a list of all those good things in the not-too-distant future.)

Anyway, yesterday was such a dreary wet day here in Malta that after running a bunch of errands in the bad weather, it was so nice to get home to three kids (school closed early for Thanksgiving) and my husband (who was off work with man flu).  There was something so lovely about having the whole family home on a weekday and all of us staying warm inside while it poured outside that I simply had to ignore the housework (again) and show hubster and MDK how thankful I am to have them in my life by:

1) taking these:

chocolate cake ingredients

2) doing this with them:

DSC07274

3) pouring all this love into a cake tin (you can hold the jokes about it looking like a cow pat thanks…hubster already had a good laugh):

DSC07307

4) enduring being asked 47 times ‘is it ready yet?’ (and that was just my husband) and then a short while later – tbh considering how many times I was asked if it was ready, it didn’t feel like a short while at all –

5) pulling one of life’s simple pleasures, chocolate cake, out of the oven and waiting what felt like an eternity for it to cool down a bit:

DSC07309

6) before slapping on some of this:
[hopes her readers will help her out by simply imagining a photo of the chocolate butter cream icing which she forgot to photograph]

7) and serving this up (okay I admit I couldn’t wait for the cake to cool down enough hence the melted icing):

and yes, don’t worry, I did leave a bit for my family too

8) before finally snuggling up on the sofa with my life’s loves to watch this for the umpteenth time:

DSC07312

Dreary wet afternoon?

See, I even ended up giving thanks for that too.

10 Lessons This Mama Has Learned

DSC07266So in a week where I managed to miss a girls’ night because I didn’t read the details on the invite properly and came seriously close to using a tube of ear drops to stick my son’s birthday cupcake decorations together, thinking it was a bottle of sugar glue, I thought it a good idea to see if I’d actually done or learned anything constructive this past week.  I think I have.

And being the kind gal that I am, I’m sharing these lessons with you.  For free. You can thank me later.

 

1) It is perfectly possible to go running at 9am and still not have showered by 3pm and yet not have a friggin’ clue what the hell you did between 9 and 3 to make this possible.

2) Animal print dresses never did anyone any good.  Nuff said.

3) Grasp the simple fact that your kid’s birthday is always on the same date every year.  Never changes. Don’t let it creep up on you and shout SURPRISE! in your brain three days before, sending you into a hot blind panic about how much there is to do with such ‘short notice’.

4) If you’re a stay-at-home mum and 3) sounds eerily familiar to you, do not admit it to your working mum friends. They’ll despise you.

5) Unless you plan to wear thongs well into old age, just accept that Visible Panty Line will become a natural part of your life at some stage.  Go with it.

6) Camel Toe.  It will eventually get you.  Sorry.

7) Try to make sure that 5) and 6) don’t happen to you on the same day.  It’s just not fair on those around you.

8) The phrase “my house looks like it’s been burgled” is not always entirely accurate when describing the mess. (Those of you with pristine homes, look away now.)  Take my house for example (please somebody take my house and clean it.)  If a burglar got in, they’d think “Nah. I can’t work in these conditions” and tidy up first.

9) Always read everything properly.  Do not buy your child a birthday card that says Happy Birthday Cousin.  Ditto invites to Ladies’ Poker Night etc.

10) If you play tennis on Monday, run on Tuesday, do pilates on Wednesday, have a tennis class on Thursday and do yoga on Friday, there is NOTHING wrong with sticking your face in the Nutella jar on Saturday.

That’s it. So what lessons have you learned  recently?

 

Honey I Forgot To Feed The Kids (things celebrity mums don’t do)

You know you haven't got this parenting thing right when you shriek "**** I FORGOT THEIR SCHOOL LUNCHES!". Celebrity mums just don’t have days like this.

You know  you haven’t got this parenting thing right

when you decide not to send them homemade lunches today, in favour of buying them hot pizzas at lunchtime.  And then later you sit in your favourite cafe writing a post called 10 Signs of the Scatty Mama  mentally patting yourself on the back for spending quality time with your youngest (when in actual fact she’s occupying herself with jigsaw puzzles, colouring for three hours and sipping babyccinos while you work on your blog).

And then you head off late to the grocery store

and as you’re salivating over the baked goods section and putting doughnuts into a bag as an afternoon treat for the kids, you shriek “**** I FORGOT THEIR LUNCHES!” so you grab some sorry-looking pizza slices from the bakery but you can’t call the kids’  teachers to let them know you’re on your way because you left your phone at home that morning (again) and you feel sick to your stomach at the thought of your other two kids sitting at school wondering where the hell their stay-at-home-mum is while everyone around them eats food lovingly prepared by proper mums, some of whom work and who don’t forget their kids’ lunch.

So you end up flying around the store like a lunatic

literally throwing stuff into the trolley at breakneck speed with your three year-old in the front seat firing nonsensical questions at you and then you line up at the ‘under 10 items checkout’, realise you have 11 items, line up at the correct checkout, literally throw everything onto the belt at breakneck speed like a lunatic, throw it all into shopping bags, run to the car, get to school way after they’ve all gone back in after lunch, endure hurt looks from your kids and faintly disgusted looks from their teachers and learn that some of the teachers scrambled around for food for your son who was crying.

Afterwards, you rush home and throw the food into the freezer

and fridge, grab your phone, nuts and chocolate (yep I really did say you grab your phone, nuts and chocolate), head off an hour late to your amazing baker friend for her help in grinding them up for a dessert that you promised to make for a fundraiser the next day because you bust your own food processor the week before when you made the same dessert.

Then your husband (who never questions your parenting)

calls you and questions your parenting…and you feel so deflated at your rubbish mothering skills that you end up gratefully accepting your friend’s invite to stay for lunch when you should really be heading home to put your toddler down for her nap and hang out that laundry load.  And later when you’re going to school to get the kids, you think how celebrity mums like

Angelina, Gwyneth and Victoria just don’t have days like this

(how would they when they have an entire army of childcare and domestic employees helping them fake the image of  the hands-on-mum?) and you get to school so late that your kids have gone back into the school building…and then you get your husband from work and he drops you back at your baker friend’s house but turns up again a bit later because on his way back to work he discovered you’d left your phone in the car.  Then you go home, finally prepare dinner, get the kids fed and get everyone upstairs for bedtime but as you’re bathing them, you think

“Oh crap, I don’t have eggs or sugar for the dessert”

and you realise the local store will close before you’ve finished bathing the youngest.  So your eldest has to change back out of her pyjamas and run to the store to buy some and as she’s leaving the house, she discovers the house keys in the front door and it’s at that point that you realise how fitting it is that you wrote 10 Signs Of The Scatty Mama just that morning…

…and that you need to borrow one of those employees from Angelina, Gwyneth or Victoria…

Mama’s Got A Brand New Blog

You can always trust your sister for good advice.  One of my siblings suggested I start a blog.  So being a firm believer in “why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?” I did just that…and put it off for 3 years.

Then more and more friends who had been reading my facebook posts started urging me to start a blog.  Well alright, they didn’t exactly ‘urge’ me…they just said they find my posts really entertaining and though I might do a good job of writing a blog.

So why the hesitation and procrastination?

Yes my brain was still in baby-fug as my youngest wasn’t even 2 months old when my sis suggested it but let’s face it, I’ve still had plenty of time since then to do something about it given that my youngest is about to turn 3 [at time of writing]. And it’s not like I’m new to writing.  From the bespectacled little girl who used to sit at the back of her parents’ shop, quietly penning poetic masterpieces in her little green notebook to the numerous short stories I wrote in adole scence to my superb (if I say so myself) university thesis to my recent stints as freelance copywriter, I’m no stranger to writing.

No, I think the reason for the delay was probably the same reason why a lot of people don’t immediately reach for the remote, switch off American Idol, leap up from the sofa and exclaim “I’ll start a blog!” FEAR.  Fear of looking like a show-off (I mean nothing screams “Look at me! Look at me!” quite like a blog…well, nothing apart from your own Kardashian-style TV series). Fear of nobody reading it (who on earth would pay attention to my ramblings?). Even worse, fear of people reading it and disliking it (how on earth did she think anyone would find this tosh interesting?). Fear of not having anything to say after the initial rush of inspiration and so on and so on…you get the picture. Yes, I hate to admit it but 8 years as a stay-at-home mum  – despite all the fulfilment and joy they’ve brought me – have gradually eroded that confidence I had as ‘a girl about town’ to the point where I am now often too scared to try something new.

Enough with the fear though.  I figure that if I can conquer my lifelong crippling fear of water to the point where I now jump into the Mediterranean sea, make some hilarious attempts at diving and go snorkeling unaccompanied (warning….don’t go snorkeling unaccompanied), then I can blooming well start a blog!

What’s more, I still have a couple of years before my youngest starts school but am itching to do something now to keep my 4 remaining mummy braincells intact. So…what to do?  Well, going back to work is high on the wishlist but in the meantime, doing something from home which allows me an outlet for my increasing interest in writing seems like a pretty good idea.  So, off my derriere  I finally get and voila, a new blog is born (which ironically requires a lot of sitting on my derriere).

So the core of this blog will revolve around my experiences raising my 3 monkeys, ‘domestic bliss’ with hubby and life in Malta all from a fairly light-hearted angle.  I’ll get serious from time to time and I’ll add some practical stuff too.

Yes, I may only reach a small audience. No, I’m not doing anything admirable like risking my life providing medical treatment in a war zone, building housing for impoverished children or dedicating my life to finding a cure for a terrible disease…but hopefully if my musings can put the odd smile on the faces of a few or a few smiles on the faces of many, then I’ve done something to ‘contribute’ in some way. (Between you and me, I hope it ends up being so successful that I barely manage to get out of my pyjamas all day and the kids have to drive themselves to school, as I spend my entire time responding to comments by my many adoring followers.)

Move over little green notebook.