True love, aged three-and-a-half.

So, it appears that Little Man has gotten married. Just like that. I didn't even get to rock an old-fashioned Mother Of The Groom outfit! Now, I know that there are many worried Irish Mammies out there whose little boys are in their mid-thirties and showing no signs of settling down, but as we're still in the mid-threes I thought I had a little bit more time!

There are so many things I wanted to teach him before he was married. How to tie his shoelaces, for one. Perhaps even tell the time. And I know that Hubby hasn't had The Talk with him yet. Still, he knows enough to give regular compliments and daily snuggles. That's a good start to any marriage!

As for Little Man's Little Bride - well, she's a loquacious little cutie-pie. And as adorable as her smile is, it is her perseverance I admire most. Since naming her pet turtle after Little Man aged only two, she's been asking him almost weekly to marry her. With that kind of determination on her side, I imagine she'll have no trouble whatsoever getting him to bring out the bins, or collect her from the hairdresser when it's raining.

They were married in creche, just after snack time, with one teacher as bridesmaid and one as flower girl. I haven't been able to ascertain who exactly performed the ceremony, but I'm told that the vows were simple and elegant; "Hey baby, I think I want to marry you!".

So far, married life seems to be going well for the Little Couple. They now hold hands during story time, and regularly exchange secret smiles during both free-play and dinner time. Let's hope the honeymoon period lasts until at least their fourth birthdays!

The Mathematics of Parenting

Prospective parents are often nervous creatures. They don't really know what to expect for what is, basically, the rest of their lives. Sure, at different stages there will be some certainties - sleepless nights, homework, romantic worries - but what about the day-to-day of it? What is being a parent really like?

That's where I come in. After extensive research (aka things I noticed over the bank holiday weekend) I have broken parenting down into a series of easy-to-comprehend percentages. Once you've got these mastered, it's all plain sailing* from here on in.

Parenting is:

2% wiping things (if you have to ask, you don't want to know)
2% alphabet, colours and counting to ten
3% teaching them manners
4% reading "just one more" bedtime story
4% learning how to pack a tiny bag for every possible eventuality on trips lasting from 10 minutes to 10 days
5% pre-empting hunger
7% making them run around so that they just might be tired at bedtime
10% various snuggles and smooches
63% being able to say "You're right! We do need to go and rescue the baby puppies who are trapped in trouble on the mountain with glitter!" with just the right tone of urgency

See? Easy as pie. Messy pie. That sometimes smells. And makes a lot of noise. But still, pie.


* Definitions of plain sailing may differ from individual to individual. The author accepts no responsibility for any unforeseen carpet stains, trips to the emergency room, or embarrassing questions asked in supermarket queues

It's the little things

So I haven't blogged in a little while. I suppose it's to be expected.
As a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend and an employee, it seems like being a blogger is going to be difficult to fit in.

But that's ok. Sometimes it's enough just to do things, rather than talk about them. And sometimes, like this little post, the little things are fun too.

My darling Little Lady brought me one of those little moments of perfection this week. We were playing. I was the baby and she was the Mammy. And I pretended to cry. So, my gorgeous girl came over to me, threw her arms around me, cocked her head to one side and said 'It's ok baby girl! I know, I know. It's a tough old day.'

So it turns out she does listen to me after all!

Hair today, gone tomorrow! Or yesterday. Or something.

Where to begin??
Perhaps with Dee, the amazing woman who runs Headrush salon in Kilcullen. 

When I walked through that colourful door on Wednesday afternoon, I expected just to have my hair chopped off, dyed a slightly ridiculous colour and to be sent on my way. 

As we all know, Shave or Dye is a very good cause. Rather than running a marathon, or starving myself or staying awake for an improbably length of time, all that was asked of me was to subject myself to mild ridicule in the hopes of raising some much needed funds for the Irish Cancer Society.  

Friends, family members and the amazing Twitizens I've come to know and love all kept up their end of the bargain. Sponsorship came flowing in. I was delighted. 

But no one had reckoned with Dee O'Connor. In one sense, she failed miserably. I have been subjected to no ridicule whatsoever! This was not the plan AT ALL.

I expected to feel self-conscious, a bit stupid. I was prepared to buy headscarves and hairdyes and basically go into hibernation until everything was back to normal. 

I did NOT expect to feel gorgeous, pixie-ish. I was unprepared for the volume of compliments, jealous looks and declarations that I look years younger (woohoo!). All of those wonderful bonuses are down to the talents of one extremely generous hairdresser who gave me time, dye, patience... and a whole new look!

So, although we joked yesterday that we'd missed the point entirely, I think that Dee's work can only be called a huge success!

So where does that leave us? Well, with over €800 sponsorship so far, and a very happy lady. It would be remiss not to mention that Hubby seems fairly impressed too - although I was surprised by his reaction to the intermediate blonde stage as well! There's a pandora's box it's probably best not to open...

And, of course, the kids were keen to give their reactions to Mammy's new look.

Little Man: I like it. It's very pretty. Mammy, when I go to school tomorrow will you get your long black hair back? And you can give your red hair to the sick boys and girls if you want!

Little Lady: No liiiiiike it. No! No! Not nice. Mammy not red hair, Mammy black hair. No liiiiike it. 

Well, you can't please everyone! 

For those of you who missed the live-tweeting yesterday, here are the pictures of the whole event!

Not a bad afternoon's work at all!

Toddler talk

In our house, we have our own language.

We didn't always have it. I was careful to ensure the kids had the correct pronunciation of each word they tried, paranoid after we were told that their (temporary) hearing problems may have an impact on their speech. But life is short, and toddlerhood is even shorter. One of the most heartbreaking times of our lives was when Little Man stopped saying 'crocodiler' and 'the affe' and started saying 'crocodile' and 'giraffe'. His own affinity for language meant that we got less than 24 hours of 'eebops' before he self-corrected to 'hiccups' - who can honestly tell me that's an improvement?

So, we've relaxed. And by 'we', I mean 'I'. Hubby has always been more naturally relaxed with just watching them grow. I'll still help them with pronunciation when they're stuck, but maybe not everything needs to be totally perfect just yet. This means that when you come to our house, you'll see a drawer in the playroom labelled "pooting things and booping things". I was genuinely shocked when I revealed to coworkers that Little Man wanted a pooting thing for Christmas and they didn't understand my dilemma. Apparently, most people would call it a "gun". Who knew?

I've also recently been guilty of telling the doctor that Little Lady's cough is not improving "even though she's using the Roro every day!". Thankfully, when I explained that we always sing "Row, row, row your boat" while using the inhaler, she realised that I am still a fit person to be a mother!

There is so much joy to be had in the kids while they are small, and excitable and utterly innocent that I just can't bear to take any of it away just yet. So come to our house, where you'll notice as flish as a flash that things are a little different there. Our favourite television show is Happy Pig, which is best watched while wearing jaamas. We love it when Nanny and GwanGwand come to visit, or our "Auntie" Beeraid. We do NOT like things that are Beeskusting, but love eating Beetatoes.

Our little language sets us aside, says that the four of us are in this thing together and that we understand each other like no one else can. It is our language of love.

I'm dyeing to help

This is me.
Although in real life I'm a little less blurry.

Soon, I won't look like this though. Why, you ask? Well, because I'm taking part in Today FM's Shave or Dye campaign.
So, on February 29th, I'll be doing to Deirdre in Headrush salon in Kilcullen, where she will (for free - she's been extremely generous and helpful) cut my hair quite short and dye it a vibrant shade of red. The hair cut off will be sent to Little Princesses in the UK, to be made into a wig for a cancer patient.

At this point in the explanation, a number of people have again asked me "Why?" - with varying degrees of panic in their tone. To be honest, I'm not really sure. The best answer I can come up with is simply "Because I can". I have been blessed with good health and also with strong, thick hair that is constantly commented on at the hairdressers. So, why not use it to help someone else?

My plan is for my hair to help someone to regain their dignity, to feel more like themselves again. And also, for you to help fight the disease that has stripped them of that dignity (and much besides). All you need to do is make a donation. Money goes to the Irish Cancer Society, who fund services for cancer sufferers, as well as much needed research to help fight this disease.

Now that I've got my lovely sponsorship pack, I will be fundraising in earnest. If you'd like to sponsor me in person, just let me know and I'll arrange to collect the money from you. (On reflection, I feel I should point out that this option is preferred for people I know, as opposed to ax-murderers...)
You can also sponsor me via mycharity.ie (where you can also see how much money I've raised so far).
Finally, don't forget that you can also simply text "Shave" to 57080 to donate. Texts cost €2 and a minimum of €1.56 goes to the Irish Cancer Society.

A final note, I started off with the suggested target of €500, but as I'm getting close to that already, I think it would be lovely to reach for the stars here. It feels dishonest to go back and change the target - but please don't think that once I've reached €500 that I don't want any more!
And, of course, thank you to all the wonderful people who have already sponsored me. Every single cent is much appreciated!

Don't forget to come back to see my fab new hair on March 1st :)

Romance in real life

It's a dreary evening. Around about 8pm. I come downstairs in my pyjamas and dressing gown, tired from settling Little Lady down for the night.
Hubby can be found on the couch, in his pyjamas. Running through the list of recorded programs on our Sky box to decide what we'll watch this evening. Neither one of us even notices the toys strewn around the floor anymore.
Dinner will be eaten in front of the TV. Leftovers from the healthy meals we cooked at the weekend.
Apart from the strains of a lullaby over the baby monitor, and the voices of the cast of How I Met Your Mother, silence reigns.

Then, Lily says something funny to Marshal, and Hubby laughs. Just once, just quickly. But it is enough. I take a second look at him. At his stubbled jaw, his dimples and the crinkles he has around his eyes from smiling.
"Oh," I think. "I remember you!"

And I do. Suddenly, I remember that this is not just the man who distracts the kids while I run off to the bathroom, or splits the weekend's lie-ins with me. Nope. This is my Hubby, a man who I adore.
He's the one who visited me in work every day for weeks, when I was clueless about his feelings. And the one who got up out of bed at 2am just to dance in the rain with me. Who very patiently watched me disappear two nights a week for college, for four years, just after we'd moved in together. The very Hubby whose funny stories can make me laugh in an extremely unladylike manner. The one who said "There's no way MY pregnant wife..." any time I tried to lift more than a feather while pregnant.

So I smile. And I cuddle closer. My darling Hubby turns and smiles, and that is it. We remember to share the funny and ridiculous stories of our day. The television is paused indefinitely while we chat and laugh and generally act like normal human beings instead of zombies.

Some days, the memory of each other is triggered by a sneaky kiss to the back of my neck while I'm chopping vegetables. Or a "Hey, I brought home this bar of chocolate for you". It might even be so simple as a request to be taught how to do ponytails in Little Lady's hair.

It's easy to forget about each other in the mundanity of real life. I think everybody gets bogged down to some extent in the day-to-day routine of it all. There is so much demanded of us, all day every day, that I think it's inevitable, and understandable, and even forgivable.

But, we chose each other for a reason. And even now, at the tender ages of 3.5 and 2 years, our children are showing signs of independence. They are reminding us that one day, they'll leave us behind, and it will be just the two of us again. When that day comes, we'll have all the time in the world for each other and I believe we'll make the most of it. Until then, we'll keep on muddling through. Most importantly, we'll keep remembering to remember.