This week I've been talking video games over on Epbot, swapping recommendations and researching the best non-violent titles for adults, so naturally I HA...
18 May, 2013
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh, sodding computer ate my post. Bastard that it is.
Rightio, let's see if I canremember this properly. This time last week, 12.25pm, I was doing my damndest to catch a wave! I know! Mad huh? Best fun I;ve had in ages. I may not have been able to get into 'poohing position' - a technical term if you don't mind, but I was able to get onto the board, arch my back and, occasionally, manage to drag my knees forward so that they were level with my hands on the board. More often than not though I was so thrilled at cat
Posted by NiamhG at 12:21 PM
07 May, 2013
You remember how schools got all PC and every kid had to win something because 'everyone is a winner'? I have never, EVER, agreed with that. You don't take part in something to come second, third or last you take part because you want to win, right? That's what competition is. That's what we tell the lads anyway. Oh, and what's the point in trying to win if everyone else, including the fat kid with the wonky ankle gets a medal and she barely finished the fucking race due to an asthma attack.
I am the fat kid with the wonky ankle and the asthma attack. Seriously, I was laughing so hard at the end of tonight I couldn't catch my breath.
I'm a member of a sugar craft guild and tonight I entered my SECOND competition with them. The first one was at Christmas where I entered a Mrs. Claus cake. A Mrs. Claus cake with a list as long as your arm hanging out of her pocket and a bottle of wine hidden behind her back and an ACTUAL HANGING FUCKING SANTA decoration dangling from her hand. Yup, I entered and won . . . NOTHING. Not bitter, no, not me. Well, not much anyway.
I am pissed off tonight though.
Tonight I did win in the Guild competition. The theme was summertime and I made the cake that you can see up there, see? Top of the post. Yup, a cake with sugar bunting and a bloody crab, instead of Santa ornament, hanging off said bunting. I made sand, that looked like sand and not like crushed biscuit. I made water that looks like water (AI, I took heed of your advice you see and made an Irish sea as opposed to my favoured Mediterranean sea).and I won a voucher for €40.
Whoohooo, you'd think, right? WRONG! Everyone won! There were only four fecking entries so the committee decided everyone is a winner and we should all get something nice.
I. Am. The. Best. Trier.
I wanna be the best caker. I just want to win something, based on votes, because people fucking like it not because everyone is a sodding winner.
I am an idiot, I know. I won something. I should be happy but I want to win because I'm good not because I'm the fat kid with the wonky ankle and asthma and, sure, everyone is a winner.
01 May, 2013
I'm trying lose weight. Oi!!! Stop yawning, I know I've said it before but this time I mean it. To the extent that I don't care that there biscuits in the press or nachos under the stairs. Although I would give my right arm for a packet of Tayto. Mmmmmm Tayyyyyy Tooooooooooe (you have to add an 'e' otherwise it sounds like too, if you know what I mean).
So, the water. Apparently, if one wants to be healthy, hydrated and, one day, thin, the thing to do is to drink two pints of water in the morning and then not eat anything for 45 minutes. But, as I only haul my carcass out of bed at the last possible moment before going to school, 7.45am, it means that I am a time bomb.
Two pints of water guzzled in three minutes before rushing out the door . . to remain in the car or standing outside a school for 40 minutes . . . is fucking lethal.
I'm a nervous wreck. Am convinced I am going to either piddle (cackle, I love that word 'piddle', say it a couple of times, promise it will make you giggle) all over my shoes at the school gate or pee in the car. I practically have my trousers around my ankles before I get into the estate in the mornings now. No mean feat when you consider I'm driving at the time.
I want to lose weight, and this time it's real man, because I'm 40 and er, hmmmm, not as svelte as I would care to be. Plus!! I've said I'll go surfing in Donegal with a load of zumba-ers and Ger. What the hell was I thinking? I can't surf. I can barely balance when standing upright thanks to dodgy inner ear and yet I'm going to put myself on a board in the North Atlantic or Sea, can't remember which. I said I'd go because I've always wanted to go to Donegal and that is where the zumba-ers are going surfing.
To go surfing one must wear a wet suit! Me. In. A. Wetsuit. I am convinced that Japanese Whaling ships are going to think they've hit the jackpot when they see me and then harpoon me. Jesus, can you imagine the shame? Mistaken for a whale. Morto. If I wouldn't already be dead I'd think I'd die.
Right, off to piddle.
You know that person you bump into every now and then, the one you see coming towards you and you think 'fuck, did they see me. . ?' before chucking yourself into a bin to hide? Yeah? Well, that person is me.
I don't know what's gone wrong but I have been a miserable bitch for the past four weeks. I'm blaming the water, am drinking a lot of it you see, as apparently fluoride is really bad for those with a er, inclination towards being somewhat depressed.
I am so tedious when miserable but if meeting face to face, or on the phone, I can put on a good show of whooohoooo isn't life fabulous dahling but not so great when typing. I find it hard to lie when I'm typing (something for you to remember Ger). I can't pretend to give a fuck online. Kind've nice though as it means you can just bail from twitter and facebook etc. and gain so much tv catching up time. If only you were in the mood to watch tv.
Being miserable is a pain in the arse. Too miserable to do anything other than growl at those nearest you or hide in the hot press because the noise is pushing you to distraction.
Yup, pain in the hole.
One of the plus sides of not keeping up with the online typing is that I have watched three series of The Good Wife and still managed to get eight hours sleep every night. The bad side is, well, you get lonely.
But, I think, life is veering back on track. I am typing, lucky you (she thinks ), and trying to put a funny spin on it so things must be improving. Oh, and in my 'poor me' phase, that wasn't really about me going 'poor me' a lot more me going 'snarl' a lot I noticed several things. Wanna hear them?
No. 2 is, unfortunately as he's only 9, growing a tache. He's not happy.
Although, as no. 3 pointed out, it could be worse. You could have a belly that looks like it contains triplets!! (Poor A. still has a baby belly, I love his little pot).
No. 1 is a moody bastard, his hormones clashing with my 'meh-ness' isn't pretty. Plus the bugger keeps nicking my hairbrush, concealer and gel. Bugger. However, he got Man of the Match today and all is good.
Sometimes being miserable attracts other miserable sods. Isn't that a fucker? You are down in the dumps so along comes someone to add their shit to your pile of shit and, before you know it, you're drowning in poop.
It's hard being the one doing all the work. I think that's what brought this on to be honest. Himself is back at college which means I'm running house, running kids, borrowing a boy, caking, talking, invoicing, and everything else and I am worn out. I did broker a deal where himself (not worth a capital 'H' at the moment) would do three things: Clean the bathroom/toilets once a week and a quick wipe midweek, put the ironing away and clean out the cars once a month. Yeaaaah, he didn't last the first week. That's not fair and it's making me angry and when I get angry he throws his eyes to heaven and shuts down and then I get angrier and . . go to bed.
I love him quite a lot you know but, right now, I feel like I'm a one woman operation. It gets worse when the weather gets better because you want to take the kids to the park etc. but if you do that then your work is building up at home. I never thought I'd be one of those women who would give a shit if her floor was clean but it turns out I am.
Anyway, long story short. I am learning to prioritise. Cakes/house in morning. Kids/Park/Dinner in evening. Cakes in evening.
Me time? I get to dance like a maniac from 9.05 to 10am. Oh, and now type to you.
Aren't you glad I'm back? Cackle. I'm here, I'm just struggling but isn't everyone?
Posted by NiamhG at 9:06 PM
21 April, 2013
No. 1 had a football match this morning in Corduff. I'm not really that into standing on the sidelines so I took the younger two to the zoo. Up and out and in the zoo by 9.50. Not bad for a Sunday morning eh?
No. 2 wanted to bring bread to feed the ducks. Said ducks were obviously punishing him for not having bread the previous 6 times we'd been there a they refused to even look at his offering. Which suited us, we got to do something far more glamorous . . peacock feeding. So, up yours Ducks!!
Mind you, they got their revenge.
Ducks. Hmmm, you ever seen them mating? We did. Today. Jesus. It looks so vicious. You basically have one female duck hiding in the bushes and three mallards waiting to hop on her. The first duck to get to her grabs her by the neck, which looks very thin and soft, pushes her neck into the ground and hops on her back. All the while bumping away and holding her neck while she struggles. Then, he hops off and another bugger hops on and repeats the above process.
No. 2 got upset and said "mam, mam, the ducks are fighting, they're hurting her".
Which is where I should have left it.
But no, not me. I had to explain that they weren't fighting but, in fact, mating. Oh dear. It's all Geraldine Arnold's fault. I used to be able to lie without pausing for breath. Not any more though. Pants.
I explained that what we were looking at, through gobsmacked eyes (if you can have such a thing) was a er, nice thing. The wonder of life etc. "This is how ducks make baby ducks, he erm, puts his seed into the female duck and, when it reaches her egg, it makes an . . . egg??"
No. 2 was happy with that.
No. 3 wasn't. "What? How does he put his seed in? Did daddy do that to you, pin you to the ground with his hands around your neck, to make us? How do you get the seed in? Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts. Mam, make them stop!!!! I'm never putting my seed in anyone. Where is my seed? Do I have seed? Does it look like carrot seeds????"
Yeah, should've left it at "they're just play fighting"
19 April, 2013
I am sitting at the kitchen table trying desperately to do my cake accounts. I say 'desperately' because you are refusing to believe I am 'not here' and keep insisting on telling me 'yeah you are, look, I can see you'. I have big earphones on. The big earphones are meant to signify that I am NOT HERE and your dad is now 'it'. So why oh why do you keep poking me. He's sitting over there, look. On the sofa, where he always sits on a fecking Friday,
It's only thanks to T that I am not flt to murder, she gave me drugs. Yup, your ma is quite happily high as a kite over here. One xanex and a glass of gin and an hour's worth of deleted accounts that have to re-entered aren't phasing me in the least. Actually, it's only that high-ness that is enabling me to write you this letter. If I weren't so calm I'd be halfway to somewhere sunny and far away.
I love you with all of me. Seriously, I love the bones of you. But, there's always a 'but' huh? But, right now, I could happily nail your balls to the floor. You are young, and I keep reminding myself of this but not so young as to be unable to do a couple of things for yourselves. After all you can reach every hidden biscuit and bottle of juice in the house so why in God's name can you not raise your arms 5" to hang up your sodding coats and school bags?? You know you have to hang them up because I made that sheet, remember? The one that I drew up for each of you and LAMINATED because I was so stressed by tripping over schoolbags, shoes and jackets just casually flung on the floor inside the front door.
Why can't you pee INTO the toilet? It's a big hole, like seriously??? Also, when you use the last of the toilet roll it's manners to both replace the roll AND put the empty cardboard tube into the bloody bin. NOT on the floor. Oh, and if you spit a gob of toothpaste into the sink WIPE IT UP. You know that kind've shit makes me heave.
I found something growing in the playroom today, it was making a break for the window. I don't know what it was but I killed it. Rex and Max, on the other hand, looked too weak to move as they haven't been fed. Yet.
So, boys, seriously, pick your stuff up or one day you are going to come home to a delightfully clear and Zen like house. Clear because your stuff will be in the recycling centre. Given away so that kids, who do tidy up after themselves, can have something to play with.
You are only young but if you don't get it together and learn to stop cultivating life behind the sofa no one will ever EVER let you live with them and that means I will have to move out of home and I like my home. That's why I want you to pick up your shoes, socks, jocks, Lego (fucking Lego will be the death of me), batteries (also another likely cause of ma death), costumes, shoes, bags, jackets, empty toilet roll tubes, food wrappers (you do know you're not meant to eat in there don't you?) and cups. There are three of you. THREE, four including the borrowed boy, yet every day I put upwards of glasses into the dishwasher. The dishwasher that your father insists on rearranging. He's a fecker too btw. I, on the other hand, am utterly perfect. But only cos I'm every so slightly out of my bin right now.
Lots of love,
p.s. When you are old enough to have a partner and perhaps have kids with them NEVER EVER say to said partner when s/he asks you to do something "but it's my day off" 'cos, if s/he is like me, it may well end up being the last thing you ever say. Us 'homemakers/housewives/gobshites' never get a day off. E.V.E.R.
See that, up there? Yeah, that's how I'm feeling now. Actually, I think that's how I've been feeling for the past six weeks. They are completely and utterly fucking crazy here. Not so much crazy as . . Boys. Lazy shites. Lazy shites who, I can imagine, will, in years to come, sit down over a pint and say "remember when Ma used to lose it and toss all our stuff into plastic bags before going blue and ...." etc. As that is what happens a lot right now. All four, yup you read that right, FOUR of them are doing my head in.
Between Himself agreeing to, every week, cleaning 3 toilets/bathrooms (floors, walls, mirrors etc. as his sons can't seem to piss straight), put away the ironing and put it away properly. None of this bringing it upstairs and putting it on the end of the relevant child's bed. Jesus. What's that about? Does he honestly expect any of those kids to walk into their rooms and go "hey, there is a pile of nice clean clothes on our beds, let's hang them up and put them away before getting into bed"??? If so, totes wrong (to quote no. 1). Oh, and he has to clean both cars out once a month. ONCE a month. He agreed and then, in the next breath (which, given my mood, I am surprised wasn't his last), said 'But you know it's starting to hot up in college so I'm not really going to have time". Meh. I say 'Meh' but actually I am breathing in for four and out for four and in for four and ...................
So, the girl crush? I,about 3 years ago, met this woman. I shall call her T. I was slightly in awe of her as she was just so 'with it' if you know what I mean. Never seemed stressed, kids always loved to see her and . . yeah, awe.
Now though, I know I love her. Yup, she's on the ball but that's down to excellent organisational skills and a massage every second week. She occasionally wants to bury her husband under the patio and grimaces when her kids come to her for, yet another, hug. She is also the lovely lady who gave me a xanex today when I was telling her all of the above. I took that xanex and came home and chased it with a gin. I have earphones on, I'm doing my accounts, and am quite chilled and happy. Man. Lol, she also gave me a list of how she does it! How cool is that? Yup, girl crush.
10 April, 2013
I've been trying to catch up on watching some telly. With the kids off for the past few weeks I've mostly seen Phineas and Ferb, i-Carly and .... other such stuff. So yesterday I clocked up the first three episodes of Boss, with Kelsey Grammar. He plays the Mayor of Chicago and the show starts with him being diagnosed with a terminal brain disease. He's a nasty piece of work, brilliant show though.
But for one thing. Why so many tits? Why so many naked women??? It's a political programme . .I think, so why is there at least one nude or nearly nude woman (they always have great bobs) in every episode. Bugger, but I feel old. I'm not being prudish, just puzzled.
It's like Game of Thrones . . . lots of naked women. Girls is the same, lots of boobs and shagging and . . . the stories in all of these programmes are great. Just not so sure we need so many boob shots.
I do sound old.
Posted by NiamhG at 3:30 PM
It was the Easter school midterm . . . do you really think I had the willpower to type or do anything above merely functioning? Jesus, two weeks!! Plus, it snowed for one of those weeks!!!! Arse anyway.
Lots of stuff to catch up on. Harry turned 12, Arthur has been pooping his brain out and Oscar just turned 9, today in fact. Before I get to all of that though, thought you might enjoy the photo I took last night whilst playing with the er, sleeping dog.
It's called Billy-Roo. Buckaroo with a dog, basically. However, I think you could have great fun playing this with your ma or da, brothers, sisters or, best still,drunk people (who have fallen asleep in your house that is. It would be wrong to go and hunt down drunk people so you can play this). You see how many things you can pile on said animal/person before they get fed up and piss off. I managed to get another pillow and two boots on him before he legged it. Harrumph, legged it! Bugger is meant to have a sore leg. Only sore when it suits him from what I can see. Chancer.
19 March, 2013
This is the list of things I need to get through this week. Ever feel like running for the hills?
- Empty dishwasher - several times this week
- Load/empty washing machine - repeating as the week goes on
- Hoover the house
- Dust the house
- Work out what that green slime is on the windows and ask Himself to get rid of it.
- Clear garden of dog poo
- Clean toilets (one always reminds me of the other).
- Make Sausage and Cider pie - so the kids can say they don't like it.
- Make Clapshot pie - so Oscar can say he doesn't like it.
- Feed everyone pasta, except me because I don't like it.
- Change beds
- Tidy bedroom
- Feed reptiles
- Take Billy to the Vet
- Get Harry's photos to new school.
- Sort out accounts
- Make two One Direction boys . . .?
- Sort out cake diary.
- Ring brother.
- See sister.
- Take MIL out for tea as feel guilty I never see her.
- Tidy out presses before they explode and kill someone.
- Ditto cake press, fuck, having it all on display so I could find stuff easily is not a great look when you are the kind of person who just shoves it all back in when finished working.
- Clear counters
- Put passports away . . and take all of Carol's bowls out of wardrobe.
- Put ironing away. Again,
- Wash floors.
- Finish painting downstairs - bastarding Darren is back at college so it's up to me to finish the sodding house. Completely and utterly unbloodyfair.
- Clean out fridge.
- Have a cup of tea.
- Lose weight.
- Walk dog, but only after taking him to the vet to find out why he, the dog, is limping.