Tag Archives: HerFamily.ie

Prosecc-Oh No You Didn’t!

If you’re a parent and you’ve never seen the movie The Slipper And The Rose, I suggest you find a way to schedule it into your telly watching this week. Based on the story of Cinderella, it is a fabulous UK musical version starring our very own Gemma Craven and the ridiculously handsome Richard Chamberlain. Although I haven’t watched it for years, I am constantly reminded of it these days, in particular the really very funny Fairy God Mother, who was played by Annette Crosbie.

You see, Fairy Godmother could make all of Cinderalla’s dreams come true; she could magic her from slave labourer to a credible princess in a few clicks of the finger. When Cinderella was too exhausted to go on, she could whip up a cooked dinner for fifty of the Wicked Step Mother’s closest friends with a blink of an eye. But try to boil the kettle for a cup of tea for herself when everyone had left for the ball? Disaster. Magic a new frock that she might wear herself? You must be joking.

I think being a mammy is like that sometimes. We can get everyone up, dressed and fed, lunches made, schedule doctors visits, organize play dates, family holidays and get-togethers, and more or less succeed in serving everyone else’s needs. But try and make it on time for a nail appointment? Fail. Try to look unlike a harried mother with Rusk chunks embedded on her sleeves when bumping into an ex-boyfriend? Fail. Try to do absolutely anything that could be construed as ‘Private’, ‘free’ or ‘Me’ Time? Fail, fail, fail.

Ass Monkey and I had a bottle of Prosecco in the fridge for about two months. Actually, that’s not entirely true. It did leave the fridge on occasion, under the promise that we might open and drink it. And as we were interrupted by children/visitors/falling asleep into our dinner, it has always ended up back on the shelf. I have audibly apologized to the bottle on more than one occasion. ‘I promise I will drink you’, I’d say, sadly, as I slowly closed the refrigerator door.

On Friday night last, we thought we had it sussed. Both kids were unusually knackered by 6pm, so we bathed them and got them into bed by 7.30pm – about an hour earlier than normal. Marvelous! Abandoning all notions of ironing (me) or cleaning up after dinner (him), we grabbed the essentials: a movie, popcorn, cheese and crackers, a selection box (yes, we still have one or two and they’re not going to eat themselves) and the abandoned bottle of Prosecco. ‘It’s your lucky day!’ I exclaimed, reefing it by the next from the fridge. (It’s cool, Prosecco likes it rough).

We were having a great ole time, and of course I was feeling giddy after one glass because I hardly ever get to drink and I’m exhausted all the time (= light weight). Ass Monkey had just refilled our glasses with the last of the bottle when we heard a thud from upstairs. And then major wailing from Jacob, the kind where you think something really bad has happened. You know, like that there might be blood.

I jumped up with such a fright from the couch that I knocked the two glasses of Prosecco off the coffee table and over onto the rug below. Traumatised, I kept going upstairs and found Jacob bawling uncontrollably in our bed, hands in his mouth, and that continued for an hour. He was also kind enough to wake his baby sister, who was then also awake for an hour. Also bawling.

About half an hour into the carnage, I could hear Ass Monkey pottering around, switching off lights and locking up doors. I mean, who did we think we were, enjoying ourselves?

Kids: 1 Fairy Godmother: 0

This originally appeared on the HerFamily website. See other articles I have written for HerFamily.ie HERE!

‘I’ll Threeeam and Threeam Until I Get Thick…’

Jacob has a lisp. A tiny one. It’s cute. And his pronunciation is a bit off on certain words. He replaces the letter ‘C’ with ‘T’, and so we send him into each other asking if we’d like a ‘Tup Of Toffee’ on occasion, just for our own personal amusement. I know, we’re assholes ;o)

We don’t make a big deal of it to him, try to correct him or make fun of it. We’ve just decided to let him get on with it, knowing that he’s only three-and-a-half and that it will most likely straighten itself out. And in the interim, I have him on the speech therapy list, you know, just to be sure, to be sure.

But I’ve had to ask several other people to stop going on about it – adults, who also think it’s cute and mean well, and who imitate the very mistakes or mispronunciations he’s making – right in front of him. ‘Oh, he was so cute!’ they’ll exclaim, as he and I look on, shrugging at each other. ‘He asked me if I got a new TAR! He meant CAR, of course, but I had no idea what he was talking about! Tee hee!’

When I ask them to maybe not make fun of him while he’s listening in, in case he thinks there’s something wrong with him, they protest that they wouldn’t dream of making fun of him and honestly just thought it was cute. And I believe them, because if I thought they were genuinely making fun of him, there wouldn’t just be a calm conversation about it, if you know what I mean…

I wondered this week if I was being particularly over-sensitive about the issue, but then I realized that nobody in their right mind would slag off an adult’s lisp or speech impediment, as it would be the height of social rudeness. Like, you’d never roar at your mate down the pub, ‘What did you say you wanted? A Bacardi BREEEETHER??! Oh my god, you’re so cute!’. You’d get decked, right?!

So why is it ok when it’s a kid, because they’re little? Well, what if it does affect them just the same way as it would an adult and hurts their little feelings? And sorry (not sorry), but with my cute kid? Not on my Mammy Watch.

Here are a few other things that we say to kids willy-nilly (love that expression!), but would never in a million years say to adults (a few of them are from you troopers on the Facebook page so thanks!). If you can think of any more, send them on and join us on Our Facebook Page for more!! ;o)

Look at that big belly on you. Where did you get that big tub?!
Have you done your poo-poos?
What do they have you wearing today? Have you no decent clothes?
You have to get that hair cut.
Did you wipe your bum? Properly, though?
You are not listening to me and you have to do what I say…just ‘coz.
Did you put clean pants on this morning? Show them to me.
Have you brushed your teeth? Let me smell your breath. Oh you did, well done. Right then, bed.
I can see your buuuuuum!
You smell bad, your hair is like a bag of chips. Go shower.

Don’t Put My Kid In A Box ;o)

***This Post Originally Appeared On HerFamily.ie. Catch ‘A Model Vagina’ HERE!**

A Model Vagina

We moved house last year and haven’t had great luck with finding a new family GP. The first one we tried out was a bit silly – the doctor for my antenatal care, plus those first couple of new baby visits was located up not one, but two very narrow flights of stairs. Whatever about dragging my heavily pregnant and dementedly overdue ass up there, expecting a new mum to haul her broken lady bits AND the baby in the wretched car seat (what is the situation with them being made of lead?) is criminal.

Then, of course, there was the time they charged me €90 for a fifteen-minute visit with Eva because I also asked them to sneak a peek at a rash on the back of Jacob’s knee. The reluctant toddler probably let them take a look at it for all of a second – ok, maybe two seconds, but did it warrant charging this new mother an extra €45? It did in its hoop.

So we moved to GP Number Two and I had it on good advice that this one was very family-friendly, had an open door, no-appointment-necessary policy and that they used their discretionary fee-charging powers with caution. I said ‘Brava! Sign us up’.

Our first visit was for one of Eva’s vaccinations. It went fine; I asked the nice lady doctor if she would check Eva’s chest while we were there as she’d had a constant cough, and she obliged. We left reassured that nothing sinister was at work.

Our second visit was for Eva’s next vaccination. Again, all fine, and when I brought up the cough (which was still lingering months later), I had a prescription for a baby-adapted inhaler somewhat flung at me. Mmmm…sure I let it go. Maybe she was stressed, maybe someone puked directly onto her shoes that morning just as she was leaving the house, you know?

I had one final question for Lady Doctor, since I was there and all, so I chucked it in.

‘And one last thing’ I ventured.

‘Did you want to have a consultation?’ Lady Doctor snapped.

‘I, er…what?’

‘I mean, I am happy to do Eva’s vaccinations and everything, but if you need a consultation, I will book you in.’

Now, I don’t know about you, but if I’m about to have a confrontation with someone who is in a position of ‘higher authority’ or ‘greater status’ than I, I like to try to look the part. I like to look like I can match them, that I can whip out some jargon from my legal studies diploma or my years in customer service and deliver it with force and a full face of make up. Unfortunately, on THIS day, I was wearing ‘that’ tracksuit (you know the one), hadn’t a scrap of make up on and hadn’t slept in…what is it now, oh yeah, three years.

Anyway, you get it. She was in head-to-toe professional garb and was giving me grief, and I looked like an extra from Shameless. But on this day, I dunno, I wasn’t really having it.

‘Oh I’m sorry’ I responded. ‘I actually just had a question but did you want me to pay you in advance for it?’ (I know, eek!)

Strangely enough, Doctor Lady was taken aback enough to backtrack a bit, and started mumbling and stuttering that I should go ahead and ask her that question.

No, no, I protested, getting my fleece on (it goes perfect with the tracksuit and is has the added benefit of being baby-stain-removal-friendly), I’d go back out to reception and make an appointment and schedule my question in.

No, no, no, she insisted, go on.

‘I was just going to ask your advice on the Mirena coil?’ I shrugged. ‘But it’s grand, another time’.

I was halfway out the open door, car seat on one dead arm, wailing just-vaccinated-baby in it, trying to keep my dignity whilst noticing that my tracksuit bottoms had what looked like a piece of encrusted Rusk stuck to the hem.

‘The coil!’ she trilled, ‘of course, no problem’. And, as if by magic, she whipped out a cardboard cutout vagina and started spewing out all sorts of information on how the coil is inserted etc. I couldn’t tell you a word of what she said, because I was genuinely trying to suppress my giggles.

I would nearly have changed doc a third time, but for that panicked cardboard-cutout-vagina display alone….I totally forgive her. What a comeback ;o)

***This article first appeared on the HerFamily.ie Website***

***Going on hols this year? Bringing the kids? ARE YOU SURE? Read THIS first!!***

Book Giveaway: I Forgot To Take My Pill

I know I haven’t gone on about this a lot (*coughs*), but I just launched a book. A BOOK! A REAL BOOK! The whole process has been exhausting and exhilarating in equal measures, from the stress of self-publishing (and learning precisely how to do that on the go!), to trying to keep on top of the marketing (with great help from sexy PR expert Maeve Barry), to throwing a fab launch party in Chez Max last week, and then running off to Prague with my parents and sister-in-law and getting completely shit-faced last weekend. I may never leave the house again…

Tomorrow, May 29th, from 12-1pm, I will be taking over the HerFamily.ie Twitter Page, to answer any questions you might have about the book (note: I really have no idea how many times I have written ‘vagina’ in it!), or just to have a chat in general. I DO love an ole chat!

I’m so looking forward to it, and to mark the occasion, I’m going to give away three copies of ‘I Forgot To Take My Pill!’ to anyone who Tweets in using the hashtag #AskSharyn. I’ll randomly pick the winners at the end of the session. So, get your questions ready and….good luck! x

Guest Blogging at HerFamily.ie

It’s nice to get a little compliment now and then. I can vouch, as the primary caretaker of our two kiddos at home, that the full-time working Ass Monkey has never said ‘Hey, thanks so much for locating those socks we’ve been missing’ or ‘Wow, did you change the bins in the jacks? You’re amazing’.

We all do things so automatically and so regularly that it is simply what it is – just that thing we do that no one really notices. So when I had an email from Sive O’Brien at new super cool parenting website HerFamily.ie to say she’d been reading my l’il blog here and liked it…well, needless to say I cracked open that box of After Eights I’d been saving for a special occasion. When you write a blog, you’re never entirely sure that anyone is actually reading it (so yes, I actually just do it because I LIKE it. Unlike how I feel about cleaning the jacks).

HerFamily.ie launched this morning and I will be their guest blogger for the week. My first piece (i.e. gripe) is to remind you all that no, Ass Monkey still has not yet asked me to marry him, the consequences now being that I will some day probably have to walk up the aisle in similar fashion to this lady:

Uh-huh

You can check out the full blog at: HerFamily.ie

Happy New Year, monkey faces x