Fun Fun Fun!

So yesterday was 'Fun Day' at school- an annual charity day, completely focused on raising money for Trocaire and eating shed loads of chocolate. The kids get involved with all sorts of fund raising activities- some traditional, others less so. For starters, Rory's class had a Sponsored Spell, and Cormac's a Sponsored Jog, so the night before,and in an effort to make the sponsor forms look less empty, I 'encouraged' (read hassled) them to sponsor each other.
'Come on now, it's all for a good cause- bring down your money boxes. And if you sponsor him, he'll sponsor you-everyone's a winner!' Just one little bonus of a big family- from forlorn to presentable in one easy step!
Then, of course, there's the very popular selling of buns and cakes, or this year in Cormac's case, shop bought Rocky bars.
'But mummy, everyone else is selling chocolate rice crispy buns and X's mummy even made chocolate cake with mini eggs on top!' '
'Really? Good for her. Take the Rocky bars.'
There's the popular and tricky 'Guess the number of sweets in the jar' and 'Guess the name of the teddy bear.' We've learned the hard way to put strict secrecy guidelines in place with this one, since at a previous fun day, Jude happened to 'drop a hint' to his cousin, who then 'randomly' guessed 'Lancelot' correctly and 'won' the Easter egg. Unsurprisingly, there quickly followed outraged cries of 'Fix!'
This year, I was a trifle bemused to hear that Jude, who as far as I know has never actually been on a skateboard in his life, was part of a core team giving 'lessons' -an ambitious, innovative and, as it turned out, fairly successful fund raising idea. It just goes to show that you should never let the small issue of a lack of knowledge hold you back!
There's the tombola- a great opportunity to guiltlessly 'move on' those little unwanted gifts, and I'm obviously not alone on this one. Last year Cormac came home a little disconcerted having just 'won' a travel iron, while Jude really hit the jackpot with a very useful shower caddy.
There's also the much loved jumble sale, which on the face of it looks like a chance for a clear out, but actually what inevitably happens is that the kids buy back their own tat and lots of other people's as well.
'Oh excellent-What a big bag! I just can't wait to see what you've bought...'
Although it has to be said that this year I really struck gold, because my ever thoughtful and generous Rory,(who didn't actually buy anything for himself.. except buns but they don't count), put practicality first and presented me with this lovely new colander. 'There's only a wee bit of rust on it, Mummy!'


He also brought this activity center for Luke, and actually after a good scrub, both were as good as new. Gotta love Fun Day!

Slurry- What's not to love?

As you may have gathered by now, I have something of a seasonal relationship with rural life. During the Winter, I grow increasingly homesick for the city, so inevitably by February Country Livin' and I are on the rocks -'This isn't working anymore, we're just too different. It's not you its me!' Then, Spring creeps in and seduces me all over again with it's longer days, it's daffodils, it's frolicking lambs, and its new life everywhere, and suddenly I remember the good times, and the fun we had together, and then I'm falling in love again...at least until September.
Yes indeedy, this renewed Springtime lovein would be just about perfect if it wasn't for the annual Slurryfest that ramps up about the same time. I must admit, that when we moved out to the sticks six years ago, I was such a townie that I didn't even know what slurry was! I remember this all too well, because shortly after we moved in, a local farmer,(who was renting the few acres that surrounds our house on THREE sides, called at our front door. He asked me in a friendly,chatty manner if I'd mind if he went ahead and spread slurry on the land. Flattered that he would call to discuss his farming plans with little old me, I warmly encouraged him to go right ahead. (Work away, my good man!). But later on that night, I bitterly regretted my lack of agricultural knowledge, as I wept, dry heaved, and called that pleasant farmer every name under the sun, vowing our immediate return to Belfast.
In hindsight, perhaps my virginal city nose WAS unprepared for such a violent assault, but just last week I was 'forced' to scupper the slurry plans for our field because we had a bouncy castle booked and friends coming round. This is 'Country entertaining 101' right here People -'Under no circumstances host a party downwind of a recently slurried field.' But Loverboy, guilty at the veto, overcompensated to my horror with 'Next week is fine though, just come on over and let her go till its knee deep!' ...and he bloody did too.
To be fair though, over time I've learned to cope with the foul stench. For instance, I know now to keep all the windows and doors closed, breath in as little as possible, light the fragranced candles throughout the house and NEVER EVER hang freshly laundered clothes out on the line. But I certainly haven't stop noticing it as some claim to, or more preposterous yet, to actually appreciate it!? Let's just be clear here, we're not talking about a fine wine and this is not an 'acquired taste'. Despite this, I've been encouraged on many occasions to 'breathe in the good country air!' Pardon? Are you shitting me?(Sorry!) For never was the expression 'you can't polish a turd' more apt- the gallons and gallons of fermented animal waste sprayed with gay abandon in fields all over the countryside- is absolutely gag- tastic. And just so you know, I DO understand it's importance- shit happens and it has to go somewhere, it's part of the cycle of life and growth, blah blah blah, but it still puts me in a bad mood every time. As an added sweetener, it often ends up on the roads as well thanks to leaky slurry tanks. Only yesterday a good friend had to go and get the wheels and underside of her car washed because she didn't want to end up with it all over her driveway. Apparently her poor daughter was green by the time they got home.
But where were we? Oh yes, the beauty of the countryside in Spring, which has now tragically been overshadowed by my slurry rant. On the upside though, I definitely feel much better getting that off my chest and, right now, it's a gorgeous day out there and there's not even a whiff of the dreaded slurry in the air, so I'm off to live dangerously and hang out the washing.

Move Over Spielberg!

Sure you can't beat this beautiful weather with a big stick - and I for one absolutely refuse to subscribe to the pessimistic 'this is our summer so you may enjoy it while it lasts' viewpoint. In general though, theres no doubt that most people are in a better mood, we're smiling a little more easily, and i dont know about you but a glass of wine on a school night never looked this tempting in January!
Best of all, The kids have all but abandoned playing in cardboard boxes indoors and have rediscovered the garden. This is when country living comes into its own- I've barely seen them except at meal times for days and the reason for this I soon discovered was that they have been shooting their own mini movie! Using Cormac's basic camera he got for Christmas, they filmed each other over a few days, and then got stuck into post production using video editing software, adding music and special effects. Working together, there was minimal bickering - although admittedly Rory was initially edited out for going AWOL on the project, and Luke possibly didn't understand the 'movie making' concept, but still! Anyway, here it is...and is that a proud mummy moment I feel coming on....?

Love and Marriage

A while back, for about five years, I would have described myself as a professional wedding guest- many of our friends were getting married, and if requested, I could have provided a detailed assessment of most local venues, covering (but not limited to) overall comfort, food quality, (including finger buffet and breakfast), staff friendliness, free toiletries and indoor/outdoor photo locations. Then gradually a different pattern emerged on our social calendar-a decrease in weddings marked the start of the 'Christening era'.
In light of this, there was definitely something a wee bit special about my friend Nuala's wedding last Friday. I mean, of course I was excited at a child free day out, and obviously the hotel breakfast was a big pull, but most importantly, I was taken unawares at how very emotional and meaningful it was. Don't get me wrong, every wedding is (hopefully!) meaningful and every bride and groom special, but when two people meet a little later in life, I think that there can be a greater appreciation for what they have found. Over the years, frogs have been kissed, hearts have been bruised, and then THAT person comes along, and maybe suddenly, maybe gradually, barriers come down, and love finds a home. On Friday, as we all stood and watched Nuala and Stewart commit themselves to each other, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. A few wise ladies had come prepared, generously passing tissues around to those of us who were reduced to using our sleeve.
The funny thing was when I turned on Radio 4 this morning quite of my own accord- I usually only turn it on when prompted by a terse text from my mum-('Turn on Women's Hour NOW- v v good') and I then do because
a) she'll probably grill me on the topic later
b) it's not worth explaining why I didn't ('I don't know why you listen to that Frank Mitchell- he's an awful windbag!'), and
c) it's actually pretty interesting as it happens.
 Anyway, I turned it on and this week they were featuring the origins of marriage and someone very famous ages ago, had once described marriage as 'an exercise in hope over adversity'. Now, having been married almost sixteen years myself, I would say that there's more than a small grain of truth in that. Also, if I could be so bold as to offer a teeny piece of advice for the new Mr and Mrs R, I would say to hold on tight to all that hope and love you feel today-nurture it, watch it grow and with a bit of luck, the adversity part won't stand a chance. 
So, after the ceremony, it was on to the important stuff, like drinking, eating and dancing...and rest assured all three were enjoyed with gusto. I had a lovely, long gossip with my uni friend Ms BT9 who probably has the best and longest memory for people of anyone I've ever met- she honestly knows EVERYONE! I then reverently admired and lusted after her beautiful (and real!!) Chanel bag, and the fabulous new Tom Ford makeup within, while simultaneously  kicking my own 'quirky' clutch complete with cracked Rimmel compact safely under the table.The music and dancing went on for hours, and despite at one point bolting mid conversation onto the dancefloor, upon hearing what I thought was the Grease Megamix, but which actually turned out to be One Direction (cringe-bobbed and jigged about a bit then slunk back to my seat), it was great craic altogether.
So many congratulations to the new Mr and Mrs R, who are off today on their honeymoon- thank you for a wonderful day and here's to a life filled to the max with hope and with only the merest skim of adversity. xxx

Thinking out of the box

Here's my little workman on the job! Despite the fact that I only asked him to sweep up the inevitable rogue Cheerios after breakfast, he found it necessary to utilise his new (real!) tool kit. A particularly stubborn piece of cereal had glued itself to the tile and after preliminary attempts to unstick it failed, the big guns were called in and a Stanley knife carefully used  to prise it off. Job done and what a guy! The workman's bum was simply a delightful bonus!

Speaking of boxes, it doesn't seem to matter how many toys are available, there's always a scrum  when large cardboard boxes appear. Here Luke shuns traditional seating to watch TV in the comfort of customized cardboard. 

This week, the two youngest boys upgraded to the increased square footage of this bijou studio. Many happy hours have been spent relaxing, eating and conversing, all within its cardboard confines. Their favourite game is to take it in turns to be the 'present' while the other unwraps it with delighted (and quite realistic) surprise. It hasn't got old yet.... not for them anyway.
Have a great weekend. What's that you say? What am I up to? Well, since you ask, Himself and Myself are off to the lovely Nuala and Stewart's wedding today, followed by an overnight stay and that elusive hotel breakfast I ranted on about missing a few weeks ago. Oyster Bay stowed in bag for later-check. Bottoms up!

Guess who's forty...



Check out that hair!



Yesterday, my husband of almost sixteen years (eeek!) turned forty. And yes, as has been pointed out to me over the years on numerous occasions, he is indeed my Toy/Lover boy, because I passed that milestone myself last summer. In contrast, whereas I spent much of the previous year in an existential angst, (translation- being a 'total melter'), wrestling with questions such as 'Who am I and what have I done with my life? Let's move to Australia!', he just took it all in his stride, shrugged his shoulders, saying 'I'm exactly where I want to be, I have everything that I need.' and turned forty, just like that. (Of course, there are some who might speculate that HIS midlife crisis manifested itself several years ago in the form of a (cliched!?) red sports car, a deeply loved shiny metal baby that has been all but breastfed ever since, but I would NEVER say that!)



So young...

We met twenty two years ago, in our final year at school- he was lanky and tanned with tumbling brown curls and a more than passing resemblance to a young Tom Cruise (circa 'Risky Business'!). Luckily for me, it transpired he had a penchant for redheads, having long shunned 'Charlie's Angels' in favour of 'Hart to Hart', and although I was definitely no Mrs H, something clicked.  No one had ever looked at me like that before and it took a very long time before I stopped checking for the beautiful girl behind me. I knew then as I know now, that it took a very special eighteen year old boy to see through my layers of fat and bad clothes to the fragile soul within, but he did, all the while believing that HE was the lucky one...imagine that.

Later as students, we travelled throughout Europe, and worked on the Jersey shore. Then, as excited newlyweds, we moved to the US and started our family there. Five years on we moved home with two children, and they just kept on coming! Throughout each labour, he counted me through the contractions while my nails drew blood from his hand. Afterwards, he pulled me through my bleak post natal months, anchoring me when I could barely get dressed and gently holding my head above the swirling waters of despair.  

A good man, a great father, my very best friend. When he's there I enjoy the craic that little bit more and when he's not I find myself saving it all up to tell him later. At the grave risk of sounding like a bad Country and Western song, he's all I've ever wanted and all I'll ever need.  So Happy 40th birthday to my One and Only-who on account of his age is now lobbying to be called 'Lovergent' or even 'Loverman', but I'm afraid he'll always be just 'Loverboy' to me. Xxxxx



Himself and Myself..



A Mother of a Day....

The wearin' of the green for St Patrick's Day

You may possibly have guessed, that I was feeling a touch insecure after those Mother's Day themed homeworks last week. There was most definitely a bit of the 'What the hell am I doing I'm obviously the worst mother in the world all they see are ginger eyebrows just shoot me now' thinking going on. You see, most of the time I don't overanalyse parenting toooo much, because I've found that when I do I tend to freak out, just a little bit. The overwhelming responsibility of it all, the stuff I get wrong every day, the endless bad things that could happen...Then, at that point and quite unhelpfully the immortal poetry of Phillip Larkin usually springs to mind. You know, that poem you'll NEVER find quoted in any parenting text?
'They fuck you up your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.'
I mean, honestly, what if he's right? And if he is, it's probably too late for me anyway, the damage has already been done.. Thankfully, I realise that there's really nothing to be gained from this train of thought so I pull it back from the brink as best I can, expertly distracting myself with an online M&S sale or a really good caramel square.
There are also those great  times as a mother, when the stars align and it all comes together- basking in the glow of a really good Parent Teacher meeting for instance, or watching with pride as the art of wiping one's own bum is mastered at last. Let the good times roll! These key moments, these metaphorical high fives, are then carefully tucked away to serve as reassurance for the rainy days when I'm wracked with frustration, exhaustion, impatience or self doubt.
Which brings me neatly to last week and those homeworks- never was the sentiment 'If I didn't laugh, I'd cry' more apt. So, to say that I was anticipating the P2 'Mothers day' celebration slightly more than usual is an understatement. It involves poetry, song and cupcakes and has reduced me to tears more than once in the past. (The sentiments, not the cupcakes obviously, although they're pretty spectacular too). Then, the day before, Rory complained of a sore tummy, but I felt his head, calpoled him and packed him off to school. Towards the end of the day though, I got a call to say that he was feeling unwell (cue guilt!) and to come and get him. Later at home, tucked up, re-calpoled and sleeping, the grim thought flitted across my mind, 'If he's off tomorrow, you'll miss the Mother's Day gig'. And as it happened, he WAS off the next day-almost better but not quite-and I'm not proud that despite this, I still shamelessly tried to 'encourage' him to accompany me to the one o'clock soirée 'Just for the songs? You can wear your jammies. There'll be cupcakes?' When that failed, I then briefly considered leaving him with Loverboy while I went myself. I mean honestly, can you even imagine?
'Where's Rory?'
'Oh, I left him at home sick, but clearly I'm so needy I came by myself. Cupcakes you say?'

So despite my pathetic efforts, we quite rightly missed it this year but there'll  be other Mothers' Day celebrations, other challenging Mothers' Day homeworks, and hopefully a few high five moments in there as well. Speaking of which, today I got homemade cards, cardboard flowers, a painted clay bunny, a bracelet and a poem that puts Phillip Larkin in the shade. Oh, and lots of hugs and kisses. And at this moment, I'm watching my five offspring play together in the garden, it's a beautiful spring day, and Loverboy is catering to to my every whim. I feel overwhelmingly blessed. Who needs cupcakes anyway? High five!

A Smoke Free Zone

I must have missed the memo because when did 'sweetie cigarettes' suddenly become 'candy chalk'? I mean apart from a dash of food colouring they're exactly the same! And I don't know about you, but they still look pretty darn smokable to me...but just for the record, I NEVER inhale. So, is this a positive anti smoking step or political correctness gone a wee bit mad? Feel free to share...

Its all about Me Me Me...

It's Mothers Day on Sunday, so this week brought the annual joy of self esteem-sapping homeworks. How could I have forgotten? Or maybe I just blocked it out?
Rory's involved three sentences on 'Things I like to do with my Mummy'. Not too hard surely? I sighed inwardly as I looked at his blank little face, and the inevitable prompting began.
'What do we like to do together Rory? How about listening to stories? Do you like it when I read to you?'
'Wellllll, Daddy usually does that. Can I include him?'
'No you can't.' I snapped, stung. 'Its about Mummy, not Daddy. He reads to you because I'm reading Harry Potter to Cormac or bathing Luke, and you can write ALL about him on Fathers'Day'. (And for the record, I don't recall HIM pushing your inordinately large head into the world without pain relief.)
Jude stepped in at that point, possibly sensing a rise in frustration levels.
' How about making pancakes, Rory? You loved making pancakes with Mummy on Pancake Tuesday?'
I nodded gratefully, determinedly ignoring the fact that I had used a powdered Betty Crocker mix, and his sole participation involved shaking a plastic container as vigorously as he could. But he decided to run with that one, and another about going to the park, (even though it's been a while), and then, his eyes lit up, 'I know, Mummy!'
'Yes, Rory?', (trying not to sound TOO eager but mentally punching the air.)
'What about you bringing me to Funderland? I LOVED doing that!' Oh, the innocent cruelty of a six year old.
'But Rory, that wasn't me. That was Auntie Mary.'
'Oh!' A pause. 'Well, what about a funfair? I'd love to go there! Or Toys R Us?'
 'NO! It has to be places that we've been to, not places you just want to go.' He was either missing the point entirely or very cunningly playing on my insecurity in a clever attempt to nail down future expeditions.
It only went downhill from there. Cormac had to 'interview' me, (and I use that term in the loosest possible sense), over the course of two nights. The first night involved describing what I looked like- a no brainer, you might think? So, I smiled my most winning mummy smile and prompted encouragingly,
'Well, Cormac- what does mummy look like?' I'm not ashamed to admit that I was quietly hoping for 'pretty' but, after an entire minute of scrutinizing my face, all he could come up with was 'You have ginger eyebrows'. End of.
Only slightly put off, I explained that his teacher might possibly be looking for a little more description so he had another good look. 'Errrm. your hair is ginger like your eyebrows..' (Enough about the eyebrows already. Who am I? Chris de Burgh? )
'What else Cormac? What about my eyes? What colour are they?'
'Emmmmmmmmmmm, blue.' And so it continued in this vein for what seemed like hours. Blood. From. A. Stone. Eventually it was done, and except for the eyebrows, I can honestly say that Cormac did not offer a single, original or unprompted observation. 
So my expectations were somewhat modified as we got cracking on 'My Mummy' Part Deux last night. This, rather optimistically, requested several paragraphs on 'Mummy's Job, Interests, Talents, Likes and Dislikes'. *laughs hysterically* After 15 minutes of deep thought,  the only interest of mine that he could come up with was 'going on Facebook'.
'You're not putting that in. It's not true anyway. What about music? Or my blog? Or Bookclub? Or taking Children's Liturgy? Or shoes? You KNOW  that Mummy loves shoes'.
'Oh yeah. I forgot about all those.' And so on.
'What job do I do then?'
'But, you don't have a job!'
'Well, my job is looking after the five of you! Do you think I just sit and read magazines all day?' I  asked him jovially. He didn't get the joke.
'I don't know. Do you?'
'No, I bloody don't. Do you know that Mummy has a BSc , a PGCE and an MA? With distinction, I might add!!' In retrospect, and judging by the alarmed expression on Cormacs face, this may possibly have been a little shrill. Offer it up.
'Alright then, just put down there that I used to be a teacher.'
The end was in sight. Thank God. It was-'Write about why your Mummy is special.' So determined to end on a high, I said with a breezy 'I could tell you all about why I'm special, Cormac', (giggle giggle), 'but you have to write this bit yourself. Come on now, really try hard.'
He scratched his chin. 'Emmmmm. I can't really think of anything. Let me see, you make our dinner and you look after us.'
'Yeeeeessssss I do. Anything else, though? Really think hard about why I'm special now'. By now, a distinct note of desperation has crept into my voice.
'Okay.' Deep in thought. 'I know!!!!' ' You pay for the oil!', he said triumphantly.
Well no, I don't as it happens, because I don't have a job, you see...but I didn't tell him that. I just smiled sweetly, while inwardly I crashed and burned. And if it hadn't been four o'clock, and I still had school runs and homework and dinner to do, then this ginger eye browed, Jeremy Kyle watching, jobless Facebook fanatic would have poured herself a very large glass of wine.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly...

Snippity snip!

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Okay, okay, I may be overstating somewhat, but there's no doubt, that as weekends go, I've had more exciting. I mean, missing Christy Moore and the hotel breakfast WAS a bit of a bummer, but on the upside, I got loads done at home, and even managed to bully everyone else in to helping out as well. The four boys' hairs were cut, some more successfully than others, and despite what it may look like, drink was not taken at the time. All the beds were stripped, washed and changed, pictures that were sitting in a forlorn little pile for months were finally hung, and an overworked, seriously manky washing machine received its first proper clean ever. Who's the mammy, wha? (I want a t-shirt with that on it)

On top of all that, it was the weekend that my sister found THE DRESS for her September wedding. After an extended morning of all things bridal, a final summit was held at ours over tray bakes yesterday, and a blessedly unanimous motion passed. And it IS completely fabulous. (Oh God, at this moment, I'm having a selfish panic, as I envisage being the oldest, fattest bridesmaid slash matron of honor in the bridal party...or possibly ever. Unfortunately 'doing a Pippa' just isn't an option but I SO would if I could-Sorry Clare-it's dog eat dog!)

I also spent a considerable amount of time on the couch, working hard at getting my skybox memory percentages up. There's something so very satisfying about hitting that delete button and seeing those numbers rise. On Saturday night, despite lobbying hard for 'Pretty in Pink', I was completely vetoed by Loverboy, so we compromised and watched 'The Little Fockers' instead. Well, all I can say is, that just because a movie has De Niro in it, doesn't make it worth watching- what a load of old crap!





Oui, Oui!

Then last night, I took a gamble on the new Sarah Millican show- I admit that I had expected great things from a woman who could chat on Graham Norton, in front of millions and P Diddy, about her boyfriend going 'down there'...but how wrong I was. She was wooden and cliched and boring- IMHO, give her a wide berth. 



Speaking of  Graham Norton though, did you see his show on Friday ? He had Gerard Depardieu on and- I'm going out on a limb here- by the end of the show, I would definitely have jumped his well upholstered bones. Despite the fact that he won't see sixty again, relieves himself in bottles, is missing a tooth and has the crookedest nose I've ever seen, he definitely has... je ne sais quoi! Am I alone on this one? ...Anyone?



Damian Lewis was also on- never mind 'Homeland' , he'll always be 'Soames' from the 'Forsyte Saga' for me. He IS handsome on paper but, as a very good scientist friend of mine once informed me, apparently it's genetically impossible for gingers to fancy gingers, and from my own emperical research, I suspect she's right. Enough said. Also on Graham's couch, was that cheeky chappie Olly Murs, but I'm possibly getting old, because he just seems SO very young, and as for that awful Essex accent....it was so bad I had to put him on mute. Finally, there was Dominic West....well, you just would, wouldn't you? I mean, definitely as 'Mc Nulty'  but possibly not as 'Fred West', which  clearly shows how versatile an actor he is, I suppose.

To offset all that TV, we went for a family walk/ cycle  yesterday afternoon. Now, that sounds so simple and relaxing, but it was actually anything but. After the inevitable half hour spent blowing up tyres, tightening gears and fixing brakes, there followed a 15 minute search for helmets randomly discarded at the end of last summer. Finally, we set off to the soundtrack of  'Keep In!  I SAID Keep In!' You're in the middle of the road! KEEP IN!' (and under the breath FFSing). En route and disgusted by the rubbish lying over the road, I then initiated a litter pick and we filled an entire bin liner with Strongbow cans and fast food wrappings. Littering has to be my absolute pet hate- never mind a £100 fine, it would be a public flogging if I were in charge.....So it's maybe just as well that I'm not!, Emx

 Oh, I nearly forgot-I also got a Facebook page sorted for my blog this weekend, along with a 'Like' button at the top of this page, (just one of the many benefits of being married to a nerd!) So, make it look a bit less pathetic, and 'like' me, please please please....





Ride On....

Christy baby-it just wasn't meant to be.....

I'm supposed to be on the road to Drogheda with Loverboy right now. Oh yes indeedy, we had dinner plans, Christy Moore tickets, an overnight in a hotel and a lie in scheduled. Followed by breakfast and newspapers and endless coffee refills. In a hotel. Did I mention that? One dark, tipsy, Friday night last Autumn, an evening with Loverboy and Christy (you know what I mean!) helped chase away the SADs when Spring seemed so far away. But the best laid plans and all that, because it just wasn't meant to be.

Gutted....

My mum has been under the weather this week- nothing too serious- but despite her inevitable protestations, I knew that the addition of five little houseguests was way too much for her and I pulled the plug. So, instead of flying down the motorway, tall skinny latte in hand ,(yes, I'd penciled that in too), I'm sitting  in the kitchen on the couch. Teletubbies is on- the same episode that I've seen at least 20 times- and it's a horrible rainy day outside. My revised plans for the evening now entails cutting all four boys hair, followed by a production line of showers and hair washing. It also includes making up beds, cooking dinner and washing uniforms. In other words, except for my barber shop stint, it's like any other Friday night round here. No big deal, it's only that my expectations were a little higher and a bit more self indulgent, I suppose. A bite to eat, a few cheeky wines and a bit of 'Ride on' and 'Lisdoovarna', courtesy of Christy. Followed by that aforementioned lie in and brekkie. Ah well!

But sure, you know, it's not all bad- Luke is snuggled up beside me, and I've just had a yummy slice of chocolate cake and coffee made with hot milk, just the way I like it. Loverboy has finished work early and we're going to tackle the boys grooming and bathing requirements between us.  And for the first time in ages, we have a quiet weekend ahead which, after a month  of mad busyness is pretty special in itself. I'm also fairly sure that Christy will sound almost as good in our kitchen later on, especially after I get stuck into that bottle of Oyster Bay in the fridge! Oh and here's a little note I got from Rory this week which made my heart melt and my face smile.... Happy weekend everybody!

Soooo Over Lent

I want that t shirt!

Well,  we're two weeks in to Lent and it's all going swimmingly. Really? Really? No, not really, and in actual fact, to be brutally honest, it's been a bit shit. If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then I'm on it, cruising a steady 50. And it's not even as if I'd set myself incredibly lofty or unrealistic goals to begin with-my Lenten promises were humiliatingly modest.
First, I'd toyed with going off chocolate, (and I KNOW my arse would have thanked me), but then I remembered the endless 'diet years', so I self righteously convinced myself that I'd 'done my time'. Apart from anything, the thought of that little red Lindor choc with my nightly tea, motivates me to get up in the morning, thereby getting everyone else up as well, and its SO important to see the big picture, don't you think?.
So next, I (briefly) considered going off wine, but in the same vein, I recalled the many years of pregnancy and feeding, when wine was but a beautiful and distant memory. Have you any idea how many Lents I did? Back to back? With no St Paddy's Day in the middle for a bit of a blow out? Well, I do, and I can tell you that I'm all squared up there till Lent 2047.
So, this seems like a good time to come clean and confess that I'm a terrible picker...I mean, the worst.. really desperate altogether. Combine that with all the children, and being at home, and  preparing or serving food all the time and its not a good situation... at all. As the fridge magnet quite rightly says, 'Big pickers wear big knickers', and, between you and me, my knickers are a fair old size, (except for *ahem* a few 'less practical' pairs at the back of the drawer).
Therefore, I decided that *drumroll* I'd go off picking for Lent! And kill all manner of birds with one dirty great stone. And I can tell you that its going.....really really badly. The biggest problem is that I don't usually realize I'm even doing it, until a child screams delightedly, ' Mummy, you're picking!! You're breaking your Lent!', which is usually swiftly  followed by 'Can I break mine too?' Another issue is that I tend to pick more when I'm stressed, which coincidentally, is often when I'm trying to rustle up a dinner for seven, while asking spellings, listening to reading and overseeing piano practice at the same time. I know, I know- Excuses, excuses!
I'm also a teeny bit ashamed to admit, that the fact that the children are all off chocolate and doing very well, thank you very much, is making me feel worse. Now, obviously, this doesn't count Sundays and the odd forgetful lapse and they DO have a questionable flexibility as to the definition. As in chocolate 'chip' cookies don't count , nor does chocolate 'flavoured' ice cream. But still...
So, I'm getting back on track-we're only 2 weeks in ( see -glass half full! ) and I CAN DO THIS. I'm going to screw my courage to the sticking point and turn over a new leaf. At the same time. Yes, indeedy, MY Lent starts right here, right now!
Okay, strangely and rather dramatically, I'm hearing an orchestra and imagining myself a la Scarlett O'Hara, (if she were a ginger chubbster and much less gorgeous), sunset in the background, hand held aloft, crying  ' As God is my witness, As God is my witness ....'
(Now, I've only just gone and spoiled it by googling the rest of that quote and it's '... I'll never be hungry again', which really isn't the point AT ALL, but never mind.) So here I go, wish me luck cos I'm going to need it!

It's Shoe Time!!!

Look how they sparkle in the light....love, love, love!!

Shhhhhhhh! Just had to share a sneaky peek at these beauties with you. Not for the fainthearted, I admit, they're adorned in pearls, and jewels and all manner of shiny stuff... and yes, those are little black cats all over them too. More is more, I say!
 They are to have their first outing at my friend Nuala's wedding in a few weeks-a fitting debut for such royalty, non? Sadly though, not everyone is capable of appreciating such lovlieness as Loverboy's reaction clearly showed, 'I thought panto season was over for this year!' he chortled uncharitably at their unveiling. (Obviously, I completely disregarded this, as tragically, and through no fault if his own, he was born entirely bereft of a style gene and is utterly beyond rehabilitatation.)  So.. never mind him...what do you think? Aren't they tote amaze and are you well jell? Sorry, sorry!  * holds hands up*  I've just always wanted to say that!

A Small Slice of Life

I have quite the weekend ahead. For the next forty eight hours I have places to go, people to see and things to do. Some of that time will be filled with joy and excitement, some of it with sorrow and reflection. The mother of one of my oldest friend's died yesterday- I can still picture her in my head laughing, as she did the 'slush' with her sisters, at her daughter's wedding. It was their signature dance and now she's gone. Tonight I'll go to her wake, and tomorrow to her funeral.
My mum had a birthday two weeks ago, but because my brother is home from America, we're going to her favourite restaurant tonight to celebrate. Another great friend is tying the knot in a few weeks, and this happens to be her hen weekend, so tomorrow evening I'm off to Carlingford to help give her the send off she so richly deserves. Then, on Sunday afternoon, the whole clan is coming to ours for lunch- a sort of 'last supper' for my brother who is heading Stateside again on Monday. Phew!
The thing is, that last night when I was thinking of all the plans, and running through the organizing required to make it all work, I found that I was feeling a bit, well, stressed. And kind of wishing the weekend away, just so that I could get to Sunday night, and finally be sitting down with a cuppa and everything ticked off my list. But then thankfully, I realized that I was looking at it entirely the wrong way, and completely missing the whole point in the process. This weekend actually represents a little slice of life - there's celebrations of life, and death, and quality time with friends and family, and surely that's what its all about? So, instead of viewing it as a whole entity, I looked again at the individual parts, and began to feel a lot less of the stressed and much more of the blessed.
 I'll celebrate my mum's birthday with family tonight, while my good friend stands at her mother's grave tomorrow- it will be my privilege to be there and stand alongside her. I'm able to spend time with my brother, who lives 6000 miles away, when recently an acquaintance told me, that her brother hadn't been home for ten years.  I've also waited months to celebrate our lovely Nuala's impending nuptials in a wholesome and sensible way (Ha!), and this Saturday night we'll do that in style! And as for the full house on Sunday? Well, everyone's bringing something, and they'll all muck in, and sure the craic will be ninety. So here's to this weekend, which I think I can say with some certainty, won't be a boring one ....let's be having ya!!