mother’s day…based on a true story

Yesterday was Mother’s Day –

I woke up feeling refreshed after a lovely nights sleep. I had just fluffed up my pillows to sit back and relax and read the New York times on my iPhone, when a little knock came to the bedroom door. I looked up to see my three little babies with smiley faces, and my husband coming into me, carrying a tray. Ah lovely. Breakfast in bed – such a treat. They hopped onto my bed and hugged me. The little bunch of posies in a jam jar vase on the tray was such a cute touch, and as I sipped my coffee and ate my warm croissants, I knew by the bright eyed lit up faces on my boys that they had an extra secret behind their backs. Two presents appeared. A beautiful piece of jewellery from Chupi (my leaving the website page open on the laptop had done the trick, I thought to myself), and a box of After Eights – always my favourite. Then my husband said he was taking the kids out for a few hours, and that I didn’t have to make dinner as we were going out to eat later. So I gave all my babies the biggest hugs, and as they left the room, I decided I’d take a couple of pictures on Instagram so I could share it with all my friends. Happy Mothers Day to me!

Ah Yeah! Nonsense!

I don’t know whose Mother’s Day that was, although I’m sure by the countless Instagram pictures that popped up on my feed yesterday depicting such lovliness, that it belonged to quite a few mammies out there, I can state however, that it was absolutely not mine!

I woke up yesterday morning reluctantly. The night had not been a good one. I was up many times with the babies and their high temperatures, just the latest bug to be doing the rounds. After giving them their medicine and settling them back into their beds, I would just be drifting back off to sleep when one of them would have to go to the toilet or feel the need to tell me that when they are sick, they should be allowed into my bed. Repeat snuggles and settling routine. Then it was the dogs turn. Spikey decided that 3.30am (really 2.30am with that clock forwarding malarky) would be an absolutely ideal time to start, well, what I can only describe as ‘lowing’ downstairs. Big heavy deep moans of meloncholy (he’s in love with some dog up at the castle). Cue banging on floors, temporary silence, more lowing, removal of dog to a different room downstairs, more lowing and then a final move up to my bedroom where no doubt he stared sadly and intently at my face all through the rest of the night…in the dark. At 4.30am (really 3.30am) my hubby got up to go out to check on our cow Bertha, she’s due a calf any day now so we’re on baby watch. Then at 6.30am (really 5.30am) I had little babies filing into the bed to ask what I was making for breakfast. So I got up and went for a walk. Sometimes you need to step outside at crazy early times to get some peace.


So that was the start of my Mother’s Day. When I got back, I made the breakfast, and a loaf of banana bread and explained what Mother’s day was to my children. Then it was bath time. I broke up two bubble related fights in said bath, and then when I went in to get them out, I found littlest man standing up in the bath, peeing over the side onto the floor and towels because “mammy, I’m just too small to climb out of the bath to go in the toilet”. So the bathroom got cleaned. I then endured a twenty minute meltdown over a foam hippo. When TQM got home at lunchtime, I informed him that I was going to run away at some point in the afternoon to have some quiet time to read and maybe enjoy a cup of tea. I started making the dinner. I then fed the hens. I encountered 5 explosive nappies. I put Eimear’s wellies on twenty seven times and played ding dong on her bellybutton twice as many times as that. I briefly sat on the bench in the sun, and within two minutes, I had one little man asking me a host of questions about colouring books, one bringing me a toilet roll to blow his nose, and one mad yoke pouring hen water all over herself without her wellies that I’d just put on, and two hens sitting on my lap. I got up and went in to finish dinner. It was just easier to do that. They did all help hang out a basket of washing though. My planned couple of hours ‘running away time’ had dwindled rapidly and with half an hour left before my husband was due back to work, I ran away upstairs to my room, however despite my intentions to read, I woke myself up with my own snores twenty minutes later. I came back downstairs as TQM was leaving, which he shouted back at me that he’d be an hour later coming home from now on with the time change. Great. I looked out to find it was lashing all over my line of formerly dry clothes. Sigh.


I’m not sure if there is a ‘b’ah humbug’ alternative to Mother’s Day, but if there was I know that I’d sound like it’s respective Scrooge. But the day didn’t go completely unmarked. I did get two cards – one from my mam and dad with a monetary gift inside, and one from my sister in law signed from the kids. Ideally the monetary gift should have gone on a facial, or a book or something pretty for myself, but in real life it went on a big bag of hen food, and equally big bag of porridge and a good load of Calpol. I also got a handful of daffodils thrown into me through my van window from my aunt on behalf of the babies, and I got a free Americano in the siopa. I’d like to think I got it because it was Mother’s Day, but really, I probably just looked like I really really needed it.



And it’s not with sadness or shock that I’ve also come to know that my Quiet Man will never rise to this particular occassion. He never grew up celebrating it, so holds no regard for it. And perhaps he’s right. Because really, when you’re a mam – that’s just what you are. You’re a mammy EVERY DAY! And at some point EVERY DAY, I do get to go out for a walk for some head space, I do get a bit of time to hop around social media platforms, I do get handfuls of mixed posies and twigs from each and every one of my babies. I even get to read sometimes. And if I ask him, my husband will always bring me a cup of tea in bed. Throw in some Murder She Wrote, a box of After Eights and lots of snugglehuggles you’ll find I’m very fine with my lot.

So as I fell up the stairs to bed last night at 9.30pm (really 8.30pm), a bedtime reserved for young children and the infirm, I threw a sideways glance at the Mother’s Day that just was, and thanked heaven that it wouldnt be around again for another year. And although I myself had sent some lovely flowers from all of us here, for the day that was in it, I was touched slightly by the finger of guilt as I drifted off to sleep realising that I hadn’t rang my own mam to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. I’m sure though that she completely gets it.


Hope everyone has happy days everyday!






2 thoughts on “mother’s day…based on a true story

  1. Aw! The first version sounds like a fairytale – it never works out that way really, BUT you do deserve to be celebrated for all the effort you make EVERYDAY! You can tell TQM that from me!

    And seriously, that little face in the last picture, you couldn’t be cross for even a second with those curls and that cheeky grin 🙂

  2. really, really belatedly reading this post – love it! I believed the first part completely by the way. You are a hero. You need a special mother’s day just for you – maybe pick a gorgeous sunny summer’s day and have a do-over 🙂

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