13 June, 2014

Ha! It really does catch crumbs!

I was chatting to Karen earlier and, I have no idea how, but pubic hair came up.  She prefers the clean look, I like the clean look but . . am lazy and forget to get waxed (on purpose) so, cackle, can be a bit bouffant at times.  She reckons we don't need it at all and I said 'we do, for keeping germs and stuff out'.  According to herself, and she's a doctor of some sorts, that's shite.  
So we googled it.  It does keep stuff out (not puppies, hedgehogs and crumbs but things like herpes?!).  Who knew??  Yup, apparently keeping it all clean down there is leaving skin and teeny, tiny cuts cuts exposed which makes it easier for you to catch stuff (not puppies or crumbs mind).
Pubic hair also acts as a buffer and prevents friction injuries?!  Don't know what that person gets up to but . .  friction injuries?  I do like the idea of not being the victim of friction injuries so that's another reason for me to keep my (as Mabel calls it) full bush.  Cackle, always think that term 'bush' is very Jilly Cooper.  
I once got accidentally hollywooded.  How in the name of Jesus I ended up with a bald yoohoo is beyond me but I did.  I thought I was asking for a Brazilian but nope, I had it all whipped off.  According to the beautician, who I know well (now I know her even better) I have a beautiful labia!  Even Himself has never said that to me.  Yup, apparently I am very symmetrical.  Wish the rest of me was.  I came home from that waxing, red in face, light of pocket and showed it to Himself.  He was intrigued and would happily have played for hours but . .  it was so sore.  It was sore for days.  Then it was itchy for days.  Oh the humanity.
Never again.
So Karen is one for whom less is more and me?  I'm for the easiest, less itchy option.
I once got chatting to a mate of my brother and, again, (how?) pubic hair came up.  He said he preferred them to look natural.  I was astounded until I realised that he was 21 and natural, to him, was bald as a coot to me.  Apparently he keeps himself very bald there too.  He's a back, sack and crack man.  
Shudder, when you have a Hollywood they wax your bum too.  Nothing like having hot waxed slathered there to make you ponder the reason to life.
I don't like smooth men.  Himself, as you may know, was knit.  It looks like two of my sons are going to turn out to having been knit too.  I like it.  Okay, so the first time I saw Himself naked I nearly shat myself but . .  the two times he got his back waxed . .  nah, it wasn't for me.  Didn't feel like him.  Cackle, people are forever remarking on the fact that he only ever ventures outside in t-shirts and a hoodie, even in the depths of winter without feeling the cold.  Of course he doesn't, he has his whole gorilla thing going on.
Mind you, I do occasionally worry that one day myself and Himself are going to end up velcroed together.  I shall go for a tidy lady garden if you don't mind, but not a bald one.  Never a bald one.

11 June, 2014

Be careful what you wish for

Years ago, when I was working and years ago when the boys were small and constantly needed me, all I wanted was a couple of hours alone.  Just a couple of hours to get things done in the house and sit and read a book.  Go shopping, anything.  Just be alone.
Fast forward 6 years and here I am.  Alone.
No. 1 is in bed, he will be up and out within an hour.  Won't see him until 6pm.  Nos. 2 and 3 are at school and, when they come home, they too will be out and about and having fun.  Himself is at college.
Me?  I'm home.  Alone.  And.  Bored, and dare I say it?  Lonely.
I always imagined, when I got to the point where the kids still needed me but needed me less I'd have a nice life going for myself.  I thought I'd be either going to the gym or meeting mates for coffee.  I thought I'd be working part time at a job I enjoy and only do because I want to get out of the house for a couple of hours whilst the kids are at school.
Yeah, not how it all turned out.  I do have a part time job (ish), I make cakes.  This means I am busy Thursday and Friday.  Nothing too taxing (unless it's communion season).  The rest of the time I do housework.  I swear to God, I am living ground hog day.  Every day I get up, empty dishwasher, load washing machine, hoover, dust, grumble about kids not feeding animals or picking up after themselves.  Pick up all the dog pooh in the garden and .  .. it's still not 11.30.  Kids don't finish school until 2.30.  So, for 3 hours I . .  dunno what I do.  Upload stuff to itunes, sort out photos online for an album I don't have the money to print.  Just hang around I guess.
I am starting to dislike caking.  I'm not enjoying it so much anymore, don't get me wrong, I still get a buzz out of creating something but . . . it doesn't even pay minimum wage.  I want a job where I get paid a proper wage and people appreciate what I do without constantly haggling lol.  But I can't do that yet because Himself is in college.  I am starting to resent him too and that's not really fair, is it?  He gets to go out and meet people and do stuff every day, okay so it's college work but he still gets to leave and do something.  I don't.  Most of my friends, kids in same age group, have returned to work.  The ones who don't work  yet have smaller kids, so they hang out with other mams with smaller kids.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is not how I planned it.  I am bored and lonely and fucking fed up with my lot.  I am fed up at having no money, I am fed up with increasing costs to live, what has become, a boring life.  When Himself lost his job I said 'as long as we can put petrol in the car we'll be grand'.  It's becoming harder to do that.  
I know I'm not alone in being broke, half the country is up shit creek but christ, it makes everything so grim.  

Right, it's 10.45.  Time to empty the washing machine and hit the menopausal mile.  I believe that is what the walk from Malahide to Portmarnock is called.  You know?  Being a Malahide Housewife isn't all it was cracked up to be.

08 June, 2014

The eldest chap

He's just turned 13 and the hair is oh, so cool.
He also has a smart phone now.  A tablet too.  All of which I have to keep an eye on, in my role of good mammy, to make sure he is safe and up to no devilment.
At least that was the plan.  
Two things happened in the last while.  I don't know who is more scarred, me or no. 1.

First thing:

He's not allowed to have anything that can be connected to the internet in his room when he goes to bed.  So, on one of the many occasions he broke that rule, I took the phone off him and brought it downstairs.  I really wish I hadn't.  I decided to flick through his many, I never knew there were than many, social network accounts and came across a picture of Himself.  Himself in the nude.  Himself in the nude lying sideways, you know how they do.  Imagine yourself lying on a bearskin rug, your lower leg stretched out, one leg bent and resting in front of the other leg. . . .  kind've like this:
Yeah, lying in the nude with the biggest schlong you have ever seen in your life!  Me and He looked at it and looked at it, Himself trying to work out when the photo had been taken and how no. 1 came to have it and me trying to work out "there's something not quite right here....'  Yer man's willy was waaaaaaaaaaaaay too big to be Himself's willy.  No offence to the man of the house but it was frickin' huge.  If you saw it coming at you you'd go white and bless yourself.  
Cackle, it turned out no. 1 and his mates had worked out how to superimpose peoples faces over those of porn stars. 
No. 1 got a bollocking, Himself still thinks that is what he looks like and me?  Well, sigh.  It was a mighty schlong.

Ah hear!!!

I'm a member of various cake pages/forums and . . . yawn.  But when did people get so bloody uptight?
One page, which I am now a moderator one . . . we rarely have to moderate as it looks after itself, well, occasionally it goes a bit batshit crazy but then it all settles down again.  Until someone suggests that maybe everyone is, like, on their 'monthlies'???  Seriously hate that nonsense.  Hate when women get irked or cross it's put down to their being hormonal rather that the situation they are moaning about being a pain in the arse.  Hmm, if a man is whingy or whiney he's simply 'stressed' (did you know that 'stressed' is 'desserts' spelled backwards?) but when a woman is whingy and moany she's on the blob or suchlike.  

Anyway, yesterday I posted, on one page, that I was pissed off with the way a woman reacted to no. 2 when he answered the phone to her.  It was 10.30am, Saturday, and she wanted to speak to me.  No. 2 was too lazy to go all the way to the top of the house so he asked if he could take a message.  She said 'no, I want to speak to the cake maker' whereupon no. 2 said 'she's not up yet I'm afraid'.  Long story short, no. 2 showed up in our bedroom.  I answered the phone, she refused my prices and then no. 2 said she had shouted at him for not being helpful  
Only me and He are allowed shout at no. 2 for not being helpful.  Not impressed with her at all.  I put all of this on the cake page and the majority of people were like "argh, what is with people?" to "give me her number and I'll ring her at a stupid hour and see what she thinks" much appreciated by the way, thanks.  But one woman, hmm, she doesn't seem to like my humour or the fact that I use the cake page to vent amongst my cake peers.  
(Side note: if you are a single person business you have no colleagues to ring up and go 'WTFuckingF????" to.  This means you go onto forums populated with similar lone business people and go 'wtff?' to).
Yup, apparently I should get a business phone, stop having my children act as receptionist, get out of bed earlier (I was tired lady) and stop creating so much drama.  
Second page I am on.  Tis an American page, full of the most wonderful bakers and cakers from around the world and a lot of jesus freaks too.  Jesus!!!!  
One woman is thinking of quitting caking because it upsets her husband.  The majority of us said 'tough shit, he's upset. He can't take your kids because he doesn't like you making cakes?!' but a lot of the posters all offered to 'pray for her' and told her to 'stand by her man and marriage'.  Seriously!!!!  Stand by your man!!!!  The best thing about this stupidity is I have now made friends with a really lovely American woman, I emailed her and said "I don't normally send out friend requests to people I don't know but you seem like the only sane one on this thread, are all Americans like this?", she replied with "yeah, the standard American response to any dilemma is 'I'll pray for you'.  She's cool, plus she also got an email of the most god promoting one of them asking "A, are you sure you want to live your life like this?  Aren't you going to be embarrassed when you die and find out god does exist?" 
Oh, I'm being prayed for too.  Like being prayed for.  Makes me feel like I am doing something right.

So, the blog has been resumed.  This time I mean it.  I've missed it but life has been unsettled and I didn't want to write it all down for fear I tell the truth.  LOL  Seriously!!!  LAUGHING OUT LOUD HERE!!

No. 1 is now a teenager.  He has a phone life so interesting I can't bear to watch any more.
No. 2 . . . is still as sweetly odd as ever.
No. 3?  Yeah, he reckons a man saw him last week and dropped dead on the spot as he was overwhelmed by his, no. 3's, awesomeness!

See ya later 'gator.

05 January, 2014

Let's talk about er, you know yourself.

I'm only telling you this story as my friend Karen nearly peed with laughter when I mentioned it to her the other night.  She said you'd all love it so, here goes.
A couple of months back we were all sat down to dinner.  I'm not sure how it happened but we've all got our dedicated places at the table.  Very Walton Mountain.  Anyway, as you look in towards the kitchen you will find no. 3 at the head of the table, no. 1 on his right hand side and no. 2 on his left.  I sit beside no. 2 and Himself beside no.. 1.   I like it, means I'm not the one hopping up and down getting whatever has been forgotten when the table was laid (Ha, I like that.  "Table laid" . . . yeah, no. 3 crashes some knives and forks down where people sit, with such good grace I never ask him to put out glasses).
We're all sat there and everyone is yapping away and I'm wondering how is this my life (in a good way) when no. 3 pipes up.  "I know how babies are made"  "Oh really?" says I.  "yeah" he said, "Me and no. 2 saw the book you bought no. 1 and we read it'"
Ahhhh balls.
Now, the book in question, is a cartoony, sketchy kind've book for 12 - 14 year old boys.  Though, my gut tells me 14 year old boys are far more advanced than that book lets on, but that is neither here nor there.  The book says things like 'testicles' are another name for your balls, scrotum, nuts, ball sack etc.  Quite informal stuff.  Also tells you that you really should shower more than twice a week and that you will get hairy, interested in girls, spots, tired and discover the joys of er, alone time.  Thankfully it doesn't spell out what that alone time entails or no. 3 would have us driven demented.
"Yeah', he says/  "The man puts his penis into the woman's vagina and th. . .  . ."
Cue no. 1 going 'ah, jesus' and no. 2 covering his ears and going lalalalalalalalalaalal.  Me?  I was torn between the two.  Himself just laughed and kept eating his dinner.  
Then, as no. 3 kept babbling on nd on he asked "but how does the penis go into the vagina????"
I think himself had an out of body experience or something because, before you knew it he had . . . jesus....
Okay, time for some audience participation here.  Taking your left hand, join your pointy finger and your thumb together to make a circle . . (you following me??  you blushing yet??) then, using the pointy finger of your right hand . . . yup,  slide your pointy finger into the circle and remove.
The kids nearly pissed themselves laughing.  I nearly died on the spot.  Himself went puce and rejoined our little world.
I don't know which of the five of us was more gobsmacked.  They pissed themselves laughing, I begged for a bit of . . . niceness, PLEASE?????
Needless to say, they still do it.  Just to wind me up.
I don't think either myself or Himself will ever be asked to give talks on, the other thing, you know yourself.

04 January, 2014

Jesus . . . will you relax???

Billy:  Standing to attention.  Tail rigid.  Starting to growl.
Himself:  Will you relax fffs, it's a  plane.  You're not going to catch a fucking plane!

I concur, he was never going to catch the plane.

01 January, 2014


We are all being incredibly lazy and laid back in the G5 & Pets household at the moment.  Late nights, late morning and eating whatever takes the least amount of effort.  Happy days. 
Anyway, I got up and came downstairs on Monday, 30th December, with thoughts of ringing my mate and caterwauling Happy Birthday down the phone to her only . .  I got sidetracked.  There on the floor was a copy of Cake Masters magazine.  I don't buy Cake Masters magazine.  
This. Could.  Only.  Mean.  One.  Thing.
I flicked through it hurriedly.  First from the back and then from the front and . .  HOLY FUCK!!!  There we were!  Page 45.  Under the title "Best Collaboration 2013",  The Cake Queens.
I ran around the kitchen screaming and jumping up and down and screaming some more before haring it upstairs to the kids and Darren SCREAMING "I, sorry, WE WON WE WON WE WON WE WON!!!!"
Showed Darren the page and ran back downstairs trying to ring Geraldine to tell her the great news.  
She didn't answer the phone right away so I continued to flick pages.
Bad idea. 
There on page 47, also under the title best collaboration 2013 was another collab.  This one had "Cake Masters Magazine Winner" written over the other heading.  
I stopped trying to get through to Ger.
The true winners were Starry Night.  Not us.  Them.  Not me.
Oh Jesus, but morto!!!
I heard Darren coming down the stairs so I hid the magazine.
I think I blushed for about 2 days.  The lovely Janette, one of our 50 cake queens, posted today that we had come in the top three so I felt it was time to come clean. 
Just told Darren there too, he can't stop laughing.  Dammit, me and my competitive streak, cackle.

Yes.  We came in the top three of the world's best cake collaborations 2013 and I am thrilled (still looking a bit pink about the gills though)with us.  We are 50 cake makers who made something wonderful and whooohooooo for us.

Congratulations girls and Philip.  We rocked it.

p.s. I still think ours was the best xxxx

27 October, 2013

The first man in your life

Is your dad.  Mine has been dead for 9 years now.  He is gone as long as no. 2 has been on the planet, more or less.  It's lashing rain at the moment and the house is quiet.  It was lashing rain the day he died too, my house wasn't quiet that day.  I was on maternity leave and had a three year old and a baby to look after.  Had just discovered I was pregnant as well.  In fact, I had only just told my dad a few days before.
We had a very complicated relationship.  It's only now, as my son turns into a teen, that I can see how baffled he must have been at my changing into this person who talked back and didn't take his word as gospel.  There was more to us than that though, he drank and that made him unpleasant.  Argumentative and so on.
But he was my dad and I love him.  And miss him.  I miss the size of him.  He was a bear of a man.  I miss his smell too, which is funny.  I miss how he loved Harry so much and I love the fact that having Harry brought us closer together again..  He held his hand the way he used to hold mine and showed him trees and birds and gave him the chocolate I'd asked him not to.  That's what granddads do though, isn't it?  Give their grandsons chocolate.
I just miss him.  I miss that he loved me and . .  loved me.  I miss having somewhere else to call home.  
I can remember playing games with him when we were kids, ludo, snap, him teaching us all how to play scrabble and beating us because he played to win.  I miss the times we used to spend going to the Eye and Ear Hospital when I was little.  Mam rarely took me, she had the other two to look after, so me and my da would go.  We never caught the bus, despite the hospital being ages away.  Ha, now as an adult I can appreciate that it bloody well was far away.  He knew all the parks in town and we always came home a different way.  Sometimes we ended p in the Lansdowne bar where I got a lemonade and a packet of crisps and played a dog?!  All I can remember is an auld fella with a black dog who always, always wanted crisps.
I also used to walk to the Insurance office with my dad.  It was in Ballsbridge and I used to love walking up the Doddder with him.  Especially in winter when it was dark out.  We were never allowed to stay up beyond 8pm and, if I went to pay the life assurance, I got to stay up til 9.  Mind you, once in the door I'd be hooshed up the stairs and never got to see what was on the telly.
Yeah.  I miss him and I love him.  

12 October, 2013

Saturday mornings

Two of the three kids are in the playroom, playing.  They are meant to be tidying.  The third of the three kids is upstairs drying himself off after his shower.  Seriously, how can it take three towels to dry a small boy?  He's 12 and currently has three towels about his person. One on his hair ( seriously??), one around his hips and the other across his shoulders.  I just had a shower too and managed to get by with just one towel, not even a big one at that as the big ones seem to be draped around no. 1 son.
Yeah, so Saturday morning.  Two are playing, one is drying himself and the eldest male of the house is off on a walk.
How is it, someone please tell me, that I am always the one left sitting in the house on a Saturday morning staring at dishes to be loaded into a dishwasher that first has to be unloaded?  Piles of clothes to be washed and yet another four piles waiting to be put away.  The dog seems to have gone on a crapping spree in the back garden (Himself only sees the stuff on the paving) and the smell is horrendous.  Then there is the pile of Halloween stuff that No. 2 wants put up around the house.  Now!  Please???
Downstairs loo is a health hazard which, pardon the pun, is pissing me off because I only got down on my hands and knees and cleaned it on Wednesday.  
No. 2 made smoothies and it would appear I am cleaning up.  No. 1 made eggy bread for everyone and, again, it would appear I am going to clean up.  
Ugh.  Yup, everyone is doing their thing and it would appear that my thing is cleaning up after the shaggers.  
There will be a revolt. 
As they are all utterly revolting.