Delivery!

So, there I was this morning,  iPad on knee, coffee in hand, when the house beepers alerted me to someone arriving outside.
 Turns out it was my friendly, local, delivery man who appears to do ALL the internet deliveries around these parts, and as a result,  I've got to know him per-itty well.
As usual, he happily popped round to the back door,  had a good old nosy through the kitchen window and clocked me on my iPad.
He's a bit of a cheeky chappie, you see, and we always have a bit of craic- the last time I opened the door, he greeted me with, 'It's a big one this time. Get it away up the stairs before yer husband sees it!'
 So this morning, when I opened the door to to sign the electronic thingy,  he quips,
' Penning your big novel, are you?'
' Oh yes,' says I, ready for him, How'd you know?'
  'Sure, didn't I read all about it in the Guardian! ( Steady now- that would be the Antrim Guardian, not the ACTUAL Guardian, but still, it took the wind right outta MY sails.)
'What?'  I stammered back.
 'Yep', says he, grabbing the upper hand, 'You were away in London for something or other? Housewives? Or something? Anyway, congratulations!'
'Thank you!' I gathered myself, 'I didn't even know it was in there! Maybe if I actually bought the Guardian now and again, eh!'
 He laughed and then off he went but closing the door, I quickly discovered that the package WAS'NT actually mine at all, so I ran out after him, but he was already careering off up the lane at a fierce rate.
 Five minutes later though and the beepers went again, and there he was back with my ACTUAL package- a plain brown 'Toys R Us' box, (Shhhhhh!), so I handed him back the 'Next' one.
'Oh Aye', I accused him, 'You just assumed that one had to be for me as well, didn't you? Hmmm?'
He laughed agreeably, totally caught on,
'Yeah well, YOU should've known you didn't order anything from Next!'
Drat, he was right...I'd quietly assumed it was a tipsy late night purchase.
'That's true', I conceded grudgingly, 'Sure, I thought I had and had just forgotten about it!'
He laughingly shook his head, clearly relishing his moment, and then headed off, calling over his shoulder as he went,
 'Christmas is coming- I'll be seeing you again soon,  I'm sure.'
 Cheeky sod- Right again. AND he knew it too. Drat and double drat.

Compare and Despair

You know, I was going to fill you in on the mad Holy Communion weekend we just had, chat about the Homeland finale, (Can you BELIEVE it's over?), and possibly even touch on our head melting trip to Toys R Us this morning....but then I got waylaid by a runny -nosed grinch of a toddler, who refused to do the decent thing and take a nap, new toys,(from the aforementioned trip), that needed batteries, and predictably enough, a real stinker of a nappy. After that, over a snatched lunch of beans and toast, I couldn't help popping on to the Twittosphere and catching up on a few of my favourite blogs... which I LOVE to do, really I do, but depending on my mood, it  leaves me feeling one of two ways.
If I'm in good form, I usually depart feeling inspired, entertained and thrilled to be part of such a diverse, stimulating, blogging world. If I'm not in great form, a bit stressed or plain old PMTed, I often mooch out feeling a bit deflated, trending thoughts of 'Why didn't I think of that?', and 'Maybe if I was a bit more...,' and, worst of all, 'They're so talented, and I'm so not, and what the hell am I doing?'
Oh yeah baby! NOBODY throws a pity party like moi!
Later though, when I'm all partied out , I remember why I'm doing this blog in the first place-it's a much needed outlet, (and I'm secretly hoping for free stuff), that I've only been doing it for 9 months, (like pregnancy without the piles), that I'm still finding my voice, (though Loverboy assures me I never lost it in the first place), and that I'm still experimenting, learning and growing. And meanwhile, back in the real world, I'm also desperately trying not to mess up the five souls in my care, while peeling the spuds, sticking on a wash and having the odd cheeky snog with Loverboy.
So yes, I know that I CAN'T be those wonderful other bloggers- I'm just not as funny, or as rude, or as clever or as candid. I'd LIKE to be, but it's not who I am, and I'd only end up being the crappier knock- off version anyway. No, all I can really guarantee myself (and you!) is that I'll be honest and authentic and 100% me. That's why when someone, (whose not family!), tells me they read my blog, or leaves a comment, it's such an amazing feeling because it tells me, that just being me, is enough actually and it's worth reading ...and that's a compliment, a relief and a massive buzz all at once. So thank you (yes you!) for reading this- it honestly means the world to me. Now... mind how you go, don't be a stranger, and I'll catch you in the long grass. Emmax
 Ps in case you want to take a peek at a few of my fav blogs here they are.....
http://sahdandproud.wordpress.com/
http://blackwatertown.wordpress.com/
http://www.thevoiceofsarahmiles.com/
http://upyoursginaford.wordpress.com/
http://testosterhome.net/
http://writtenoff.net/
http://motherventing.wordpress.com/
All brilliantly written, yet wonderfully diverse-enjoy!

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.