Tag Archives: humour

How To Prepare For Travelling Abroad With Kids

5 Sleeps To Go

  1. Locate all summer clothes. If you live in Ireland, they’re probably still in the attic.
  2. Wash and dry all items. In the dryer. (See above)
  3. Return to attic to retrieve large suitcase.
  4. Realise gave large suitcase to brother on loan two years ago. Remind self to badger Ass Monkey later about why we don’t go on more holidays.
  5. Ask brother for suitcase, who informs that suitcase was in fact returned, but broken, so remember bashing it into small pieces to fit into the green bin last Christmas.
  6. Send Ass Monkey into town for a suitcase that is big enough for four people’s summer clothes, but not so big that we’d be charged extra baggage weight at the airport. Ass Monkey nods silently.
  7. Lay out all clothes on the spare bed. And top of dresser. And most of floor. It’s never going to fit into one suitcase.

4 Sleeps To Go

  1. The sun is shining! It’s a miracle. Promise to bring kids to the beach. Go to spare room for summer clothes items for all to wear.
  2. Finally cop that a double buggy is the most essential item for going abroad with a 1 and 3 year old. Ask to borrow one from a friend – inform Ass Monky of it’s whereabouts for pick up. Ass Monkey nods silently.
  3. Go to chemist for all summer essentials: sun cream, after-sun cream, baby sun cream, mosquito repellant, first-aid kit, Gaviscon, Motillium, headache tablets, Teethas, Calpol, Arret, shampoo, kids shampoo, body wash, moisturisers, hats, goggles, sun glasses, nappies, swimmer nappies, baby wipes. Reach the condom aisle but find self too exhausted to lift the box off the shelf.
  4. Have great day at the beach with the kids – return home to wash and dry all summer clothes again.

3 Sleeps To Go

  1. Everything in the house must be eaten and there will be no more food shopping. Try this combination for dinner: chicken breasts marinated in easi-singles, topped with sausage slices, with a side of peppa-pig shaped spaghetti with an avocado and mayonnaise mousse. Dessert will be mushed banana, digestive biscuits and petite flous. Eggs must feature in every meal, we must get rid of the eggs. What if they hatch while we’re gone?
  2. Pack everything into the new suitcase and stick to the ‘Seven Of Everything’ rule. If they run out of shorts, we’ll wash the shorts. In baby shampoo, perhaps. Might need to buy more baby shampoo.
  3. Vow not to have a repeat of THAT trip to Ibiza years ago and diligently pack underwear.
  4. Clean the oven and the fridge – who knows who’ll be inspecting your house when you’re gone? Also book in the window cleaner, just in case of extremely close levels of judgement.

2 Sleeps To Go

  1. Take the contents of the medicine cabinet and dump them into the toiletries bag. Realise how bloody heavy the toiletries bag and that you’ll definitely get charged for an overweight bag at the airport now. Send Ass Monkey out for two backpacks – sure we’ll divvy them out and carry them on our backs, I declare. Ass Monkey nods silently.
  2. Clean up all dog poo from garden, in case anyone might pop by to cut the grass in your absence.
  3. Leave spare key with neighbour (see above).
  4. Realise have made no provision for dog’s welfare while you are gone. Ask neighbor but they have a new cat. Reluctantly ask parents although mother is not a fan of dogs. They agree. Feel sorry for dog.
  5. Open a bottle of wine as you are so nearly on your holidays now.
  6. Order in the dinner – there is now only milk and half a tin of Peppa Pig-shaped spaghetti in the house. Feel proud.
  7. Dye hair and paint toe nails while a little bit tipsy. Be grand.

1 Sleep To Go

  1. Book self in for an emergency appointment with the beauty salon as one’s nails and general appearance is not grand. What happened to the days when one would spend weeks exercising for being ‘poolside ready’ and getting hair and tan and nails done ALL WEEK leading up to the hols?
  2. Remember am a mother now and whilst still a human being, have not had a cup of coffee alone this week, never mind had the opportunity to have a facial so just fork out the cash.
  3. Beautician comments on hair being ‘lovely and shiny’. Book self in for emergency hair appointment. It is Saturday so Ass Monkey can figure the kids out.
  4. Get home to find that entire family decided to ‘play’ in the spare room and now all packing is undone and must be re-done. Great craic. Love family.
  5. Open another bottle of wine. Sure the taxi will be here in 8 hours – it IS holiday time.
  6. Re-pack and weigh all bags when kids are in bed. We might just get away with it.
  7. Make sure to finish all open bottles of wine and spirits. Flies have a terrible habit of being drawn towards the sugar in liquor so we have to finish them in case of, you know, the plague.
  8. Drunkenly try to figure out how to navigate the double buggy up and down the hallway in pisses of laughter.
  9. Remember with horror that I did, in fact, forget to re-pack my underwear. Shove it all into my carry on and hope no one wants to search my bag at the airport.
  10. Set alarms for 4am and fall into bed. We’ll definitely wake up…won’t we??

 

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** This Post Originally Appeared On The HerFamily.ie Website. Keep Reading HERE! **

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

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

Preggo Watch: Flight Of The Bubble Gee

CONFESSION: I once lived in Lusk, North County Dublin for, like, two years.

I’m really terribly sorry that I kept it from you, but you see, I was MORTIFIED. The fact is that when you grow up in one village in North County Dublin (and I grew up in Rush), Town Loyalty states that you must vow to always, always hate your neighboring village and it’s inhabitants. This includes claiming superiority in all areas of village life, such as: the ridieness of your local GAA players; the presentation of the town square Xmas tree, accessibility and cleanliness of public toilets in the local pub and finally, control that the female population keeps over their Bubble Gees.

In case you are wondering, the ‘Bubble Gee’ can be found on a body, starting from the actual gee area itself and extending all the way up to some place in and around the sternum. They are also referred to as ‘The Gunt’ in slightly more rowdy company, and honestly? There is nothing I love more than a good Gunt.

When I lived in Lusk, I constantly referred to the dedicated bike and walking path which circles the village as ‘The Bubble Gee Walk’, due to the body type I normally encountered along the way. I also generally assumed that these fabulous creatures were in charge of protecting the village, a theory which has now been compounded by the addition of County Council-donated outdoor gym equipment at the side of the road. Not only would I not fuck with a person in possession of a Bubble Gee, but I most certainly would not fuck with someone in possession of a Bubble Gee on a CROSS TRAINER.

Due to my hyperactive nature and genes inherited from my mother, I have not ever had a bubble gee, the absence of which has made me question both my abilities to live in Lusk (Result of Questionnaire: NOT ABLE) and also my ability to protect a village should the need arise.

Although now… NOW I could be on to something…. check this Gunt out & send me some inter-village warfare to deal with

;o)

Bubble Gee

 

 

[If you like this, you’ll love ‘Preggo Watch: The Labour Surrogacy Outreach Programme’]