Tag Archives: sharyn hayden

How To Prepare For Travelling Abroad With Kids

5 Sleeps To Go

Locate all summer clothes. If you live in Ireland, they’re probably still in the attic.
Wash and dry all items. In the dryer. (See above)
Return to attic to retrieve large suitcase.
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.
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.
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.
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

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.
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.
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.
Have great day at the beach with the kids – return home to wash and dry all summer clothes again.

3 Sleeps To Go

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?
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.
Vow not to have a repeat of THAT trip to Ibiza years ago and diligently pack underwear.
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

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.
Clean up all dog poo from garden, in case anyone might pop by to cut the grass in your absence.
Leave spare key with neighbour (see above).
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.
Open a bottle of wine as you are so nearly on your holidays now.
Order in the dinner – there is now only milk and half a tin of Peppa Pig-shaped spaghetti in the house. Feel proud.
Dye hair and paint toe nails while a little bit tipsy. Be grand.

1 Sleep To Go

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?
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.
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.
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.
Open another bottle of wine. Sure the taxi will be here in 8 hours – it IS holiday time.
Re-pack and weigh all bags when kids are in bed. We might just get away with it.
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.
Drunkenly try to figure out how to navigate the double buggy up and down the hallway in pisses of laughter.
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.
Set alarms for 4am and fall into bed. We’ll definitely wake up…won’t we??

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

The Rush Playground Fundraiser

The kids of Rush don’t have a playground, did you know that? Well, there is one up at St. Catherines which is quite close to my house and I have done one of the following each time I’ve visited it with the kids:

a) Had a row with a pack of shit head teenagers.

b) Had a row with a shit head adult enforcing ‘The Rules’ (I CAN run in and get my dog if she happens to get in by accident, I have NOT left her there to supervise the see-saw ffs)

c) Picked up broken bottles, cigarette butts etc.

d) Wished that the council would actually clean and repair it so it was a decent playground to bring the kids to.

I’m well aware that there are lots of playgrounds around the country with similar societal problems and it is so sad that it is the case. But anyway, I digress. The main town of Rush does not yet have a playground but did just finally receive the go ahead to build one at the harbour park, which is fantastic news.

As a certain amount of funding is needed to bolster the existing council funds, and as my best mate Rory Carrick and I love to throw a party, we are combining both of those things for The Rush Playground Fundraiser, which takes place in the Rush GAA Club on September 26th at 8pm.

Our aim is to host a fantastic 80’s themed night full of fun, music, HUGE amounts of laughter and 80’s tackorama. Do I have my Madonna outfit ready? Washed, aired and ready to rock, my friends ;o)

Tickets are €25 each which include nibbles, 80’s rock band Delorean and your contribution to the town’s much-anticipated children’s playground. Tables of 8 to 10 are available to reserve, if you want to make a night of it with your friends.

Click on the link below to secure your tickets and you can pick them up at the door.

What You Bleedin’ Looking At??

We visited Loughshinny beach a couple of weeks ago, that’s in North County Dublin for all you who are unfamiliar. It’s a five minute drive from our house, and we’ve managed to get there twice in total this, er, ‘summer’. Eva was still getting over the chicken pox so we weren’t staying too long – it was more an effort to get us out of the house than anything.

The beach is so small that I knew we could get away with not bumping into too many people who might stare at us in that judgemental way they do, because it looks like there’s something wrong with your kid. Alan said he had it with Jacob in the playground when he just finished with the chicken pox too, and was still covered in spots – parents looking at Jacob, then back to Alan, then back to Jacob, then, you know, moving away...

It has occurred to me though, that most parents understand that when the spots are out, it means that the contagious part is generally over. (I know this is gross, but essentially, when they’ve crusted over, you’re in the clear). And so I wondered if perhaps the paranoia is our own? Maybe those parents are looking at us with sympathy, because they’ve been in our shoes, because they know what we’ve been through. Maybe they’ve moved away to go and write down the name of some excellent cream that will help with the scarring from those bastarding spots, and we just didn’t hang around long enough to get it. Right? YEAH RIGHT.

But there was a woman at the beach that day, the day I brought my heavily spotty post-pox child, and my mildly spotty post-pox child. And that women had a son with her who was severely disabled. And she was blowing bubbles into the air for him and he was delighted and made all of these very loud, very happy noises.

And I looked, and I smiled, and I walked away. And I want that woman to know: I wasn’t staring to be a judgmental other mother: I was staring because I thought that you were the best mother I had seen that day. You rock.

Six Weeks Too Short

I have been spending a lot of time with my dad lately. I mean, it’s kind of hard not to, what with him being the financial advisor for our company, and our moving house to right around the corner from him last year.

Aside from that, he had a knee replacement operation almost six weeks ago and part of his recovery is to get out for short walks. Guess what the distance is from his house to mine? That’s right, a short walk. So we’ve been having a lot of lunches and chats.

Yesterday, we were talking about his upcoming six-week check up this coming Friday and how he mistakenly assumed he’d be miles more along in his recovery by now. In the lead up to the operation, all of the medical staff he was dealing with kept mentioning this magical ‘six weeks recovery’ that he took on board very literally. He thought he’d be dancing around with his brand new knee by now, back driving, cycling etc. But the truth is, that notion could be quite another few weeks away. In fact, he got himself online and read a few forums where other people said it took them six months to a year before experiencing complete recovery and that seemed more realistic to him (I told him he should start a blog for his peers – ‘Tommy’s Knees Up’ anyone?!).

I think this realisation is probably the same for anyone who has just had a new baby. Everyone talks about this ‘six weeks’ mark after giving birth, that you’re suddenly supposed to feel ‘right’ by then, you’re physically recovered, you can get back to exercise, you have bonded with your baby and incorporated them into your daily lives at this point.

And I think that’s bollox. Eva is now a year old, and I am just getting back to normal. I am only this week back down to pre-baby weight (not necessarily pre-baby body, am signed up to some pilates classes for that!), I am just getting to put the baby car seat away and the formula away and moving on a bit to the next phase of her life where she progresses to a little wobbler. I feel like I am starting to open my eyes a bit and take stock of the craziness of the past year so that I can figure out where we are at. The house is upside down, my wardrobe and car and bags and office and computer and photo files are upside down, I haven’t seen enough of the girls or had much of a social life and I certainly haven’t had much time to myself to exercise or recharge. So I’m looking forward to getting on top of all of that, while enjoying the next stages that the kids are at. I’m looking forward to getting a little bit back to being me.

So if you’ve just had a baby and you’re busy wondering when you’re supposed to feel ‘normal’ again, don’t rush it. Give yourself a year, please do, a full year. Take more time if you want. Take all the time you please. But six weeks after giving birth? No way, it’s not nearly long enough x

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!

Surviving The Night Terrors

Jacob had night terrors pretty consistently for about a year and a half – it started when he was maybe one-and-a-half to when he’d just turned three. If your kid has never experienced one, first of all, I hate your luck (!), but here’s what it means: You hear your kid crying 1-3 hours after they go to sleep, you go into their room to see if they need a drink or a wee, they start screaming in a possessed-like state and that carries on for anything from ten minutes to two hours. Screaming. Non-stop. Hitting you, lashing out, non-stop, while you wonder if everyone in your area has contemplated calling child services.

I read a lot about night terrors when we realised what we were dealing with and most articles said to sit somewhere nearby to make sure he wasn’t hurting himself, don’t wake him up and ride it out; that he’d grow out of it. So we did that, for a year and a half. We were absolutely shattered but without any real practical advice from anyone, we just sort of accepted it as our reality.

When Eva came along, the terrors got worse. I would just get Eva to sleep, and, hoping to catch some Z’s myself, Jacob would almost immediately kick off. He wouldn’t let Ass Monkey in the room with him at all when he was having an episode, I was the only one who he would scream the LEAST amount around. He was still screaming of course, just not as badly. Then his screams would wake Eva, she’d start crying agin, then I’d have to feed her, then because I hadn’t slept for fucking ages my breastfeeding was suffering and my brain was suffering and…we were all suffering.

Jacob’s night terrors stopped on account of one, all or none of these things happening (who can really say, they just stopped all of a sudden):

We contacted a €300 sleep therapist.
I started crushing half a tablet of camomile into his milk before bed.
My friend said a prayer to her deceased mammy for me.
We cut out his day time nap.
We re-instated his day time nap, but only for half an hour.
We started giving him milk and cookies before bedtime (he used to only want juice, a big dirty habit we’d gotten him into).
I moved Eva and her moses basket into our room with Daddy, because being awake for five hours on the trot with my two kids while he snored was not part of my life plan.
Did I mention the sleep therapist? Don’t worry, we didn’t pay the money in the end. But just like bringing a car with a ‘funny noise’ to the garage that disappears as soon as you get there, Jacob stopped having terrors THE DAY AFTER I sent my enquiry email.

Anyway, I came across THIS ARTICLE ON NIGHT TERRORS today from Lucie’s List, and I wish I’d seen it last year when we were in the thick of it. I haven’t tried the product, I haven’t a clue how it works, or if it works, but if you are dealing with a toddler who turns in to the Exorcist at 10pm every night like ours did, then I’m sure you’ll try anything too. Good luck!

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!!***

When Good Hair Goes Bad

I was on the telly last week, you know, yar, yar…

It was my first time ever doing a telly interview so was obviously up to NINETY (as me ma says) all week, not eating bread, doing face exercises (yes it’s a thing), making panic purchases of make up that I hoped would make me look presentable at 8 o’clock on a Friday morning, and praying to the holy Madonna that the kids would sleep the night before (they didn’t – typical).

I think it went ok – Ireland AM are really lovely to visit, were very welcoming and I managed not to swear or lick anyone’s face. Although I did consider it when I met Sinead Desmond, her skin is AMAZING.

Thanks for the outpouring of love and support online since it aired, for my ‘relaxed demeanour’ (that was Rescue Remedy btw) and my lovely blue shoes. The one thing that NONE of you are mentioning one way or the other, and who could blame you, is my hair. It seems to be lovely on one side and the other….well… I dunno… I’ll let you decide for yourselves. (I’m scarlet!)

Catch the full interview HERE!

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

Your Kids Are In Our Book Trailer!

Thanks so much to everyone who submitted a video of their gorgeous kids for the book trailer of ‘I Forgot To Take My Pill!‘. Here it is!! xxx