I am not a business owner. I had to stop myself from adding thank god to the end of the sentence because I think it is so hard to be in business in this day and age. Since qualifying as a Beauty Therapist I have had my eyes opened to many of the trials and tribulations that face the people who are brave enough to try and work for themselves. Continue reading “The Nonsense of No-shows!”
If you don’t know who Mrs Hinch is I would imagine you are in the minority. Sophie Hinchliffe is the definition of an overnight success. The instagram sensation has an impressive 2.1 million followers and her housecleaning account has even led to her Continue reading “What I have Learned from Mrs Hinch”
Every night when my kids lie down in their beds I give them a hug goodnight. I could have
hugged and kissed them 26 times in the process of getting them into bed but that last hug is our thing!
As with most households bedtime is rarely a smooth affair. There’s pleas and cries and claims of immeasurable hunger on many a night. I try to stay calm. I try to have empathy for these emotions surging through their little brains but I’m not always successful.
When all else fails me I loudly announce to them that they don’t deserve their hug and leave the room. Harsh perhaps but effective. I promptly return to the room to be greeted with remorse, more hugs and then sleep.
Last night was another fraught journey to bed and I felt particularly aggrieved because there had been treats and extra screen time and I thought it was so unfair of them to treat me this way. Totally rational behaviour from a grown ass woman. I put them in bed and left without a big announcement and without the hug. Normally I’d be asked or there’d be tears but nothing.
I went to the toilet and thought I’ll go in now and give them their hugs. I hugged Kyle he apologised and then went to Finn. He was already asleep. Well I was overcome with sadness and said oh no he’s asleep and I never gave him his hug.
The tears flowed. I was distressed at the thoughts of him going to rest thinking that I didn’t care. Lads not a word of a lie, I was hegging. I kissed him till he woke. I needed to give him his hug.
I know it’s completely morbid and incredulous to think that some of us might not wake from our slumber but that is the truth. Tomorrow is not promised. I won’t be using that hug as emotional blackmail ever again. I realised I need it just as much as they do.
There are many words to describe many forms of discrimination. Ageism, racism and sexism are commonly used words and I would imagine need little explanation in today’s society.
What if I told you that I felt that I was a victim of ‘lookism’ on a number of occasions?
You’d probably scoff and tell me that I was just making words up and I can’t deny that my own reaction would be the same. Lookism is to discriminate against a person because of their looks. Well whatever silly word you want to put on it, it’s happened to me.
I would like to put this into perspective. The use of the word victim is slightly inflammatory – I do have a flair for the dramatic. I’m in no way comparing what happened to me with people who suffer real intolerance. In fact it’s so trivial and superficial that it is almost a source of amusement to me.
At first I thought I was crazy, that I was allowing my own insecurities to escape from my overactive brain. Making connections that weren’t there. But now I suspect that I was right.
When I moved back to the home town after being in Dublin and abroad for a few years it took me a while to adjust to the smaller community. Everybody knows everybody and all the faces were the same. I’d look in the local paper and see pictures of people at various events and all taken by the same photographer. Scrolling through the pages I loved checking out the style, dying to see if I recognised anyone.
Valentine’s Day came and it was my turn to be a socialite. There was a ball for charity and my family decided to attend. Groomed and glam we headed off ready to enjoy the evening. We all boarded the lift and who got in with us, only the photographer. I checked my lippy in the reflective wall of the elevator strongly suspecting he would nab us for a photo upon our exit.
That didn’t happen.
We took to our table and I watched as he gathered women and lined them up. He worked his way through the whole room. He never took our photo. One of the guests of honour seated at our table was a senior staff member of the charity. Surely that would be an important photograph to have?
I let it go out of my mind despite my surprise, until I said it to someone the next day,
“Raging I won’t get my photo in the paper!” I remarked. Well, the answer I got floored me.
“No sure he doesn’t take photos of people who are overweight.” I thought she was joking and got on with my life as you do.
The problem is I have now attended numerous events and have never once had my photo taken by this person. The law of averages would suggest that if the choice of people who were photographed was random then I would have been included at least once.
Realistically I have no proof; I can’t walk up to him and ask him if he has a problem with fat people? In the grand scheme of things it’s not even important.
The fact that he behaves that way says more about him then me.
I am an over-thinker but I refuse to allow my self-esteem be dictated by something as superficial as this. It is a strange feeling to be overlooked because of your appearance. Part of me, the teenager in me, wants that man to ask for my picture so badly, as a kind of validation that I’m worthy.
The badass mother in me has fantasised about where I’d tell him to stick his camera if he did ever ask.
Lucky for me I can take my own picture and I take a mean Selfie even if I do say so myself.
I tried to become a nurse…. Twice!!!
I was 18 years old when I made my first attempt and the advertisement in the paper said ‘Mentally Handicapped Nurses’. It was perfectly acceptable terminology in those days. I applied and I was accepted and it meant moving to Dublin. How exciting! I was Continue reading “I Stand With Nurses and Midwives”
Well it’s that time of year again!
≈I was sent this product, all opinion are my own!≈
I’ve tried so hard to resist mentioning the big C!!! I do think year after year it’s starting earlier and earlier and my fear is it will ruin the magic. That being said I do enjoy it… see I still haven’t said the word!!!
There are loads of gimmicks that try and get parents to part with their hard earned cash. That Elf on the Shelf being one!!!! Normally I love a bit of devilment but I have enough to remember without being in bed at night and remembering that I forgot to move the bloody doll.
So I pass on lots of fads because I don’t have that extra money or the extra energy that many require. Years ago things were so much more simple and not everything was as complicated.
One complication I came across a couple of…
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I don’t really know what possesses people to remake movies that have been made a thousand times? I love innovation and new ideas. I’m not a big fan of revisiting already jaded concepts. This is why The Christmas Chronicles on Netflix came as a delightful surprise!
It’s not Christmas in my house yet but despite my better judgement I stuck it on last night in an attempt at getting all my children to agree to the one activity. They were sucked in straight away and so was I. It’s a modern take that doesn’t move too far away from the stories of Santa that I grew up with.
A few notable differences. There’s no Rudolph. Looks like the other reindeer didn’t want him hogging the limelight and not only called him names but left him out all together. The big departure from the classics are the elves. They are not humans but tiny little furry creatures complete with their own language. I loved them. I thought there were the cutest little divils!
In this movie Santa is more of an action man and dare I say it just a bit sexy. Well he is played by Kurt Russell so I’m not a total weirdo! His coat is leather and he zips in and out of the houses with athletic prowess that we have not seen in Santa before and it works! The child actors are not the sickly sweet Hollywood brats that you want to slap, they are excellent. Watch out for Mrs Claus at the very end……I let out such a shriek that the children thought I was taking a turn.
My only regret is that I watched it a week or three too early. On the plus side I get to tell all of you to not pass this one by. I’m not a film critic but for whatever reason this one is a cut above the rest. I think this is going to turn into a classic for many children and it’s well deserved.
I feel like I didn’t really know the true capacity of my heart until I had children. Of course I loved my parents and my sister (most of the time). I’d even been in love once or twice before the kids came along.
I remember my first concert. 17 years of age and travelling to Dublin to see my favourite boy band was as exciting as it got. The atmosphere in the venue was unlike anything I had experienced before. As we walked up the aisle to our assigned seating I didn’t know what to expect.
Then the music started and I could feel it in my bones. As if that wasn’t enough, from out of the floor like some sort of magic trick the band popped up and there they were. My teenage idols in the flesh. I had almost expected them to be impersonators, but no, it was them and it was magnificent.
It’s a strong memory; not only because it was my first live show but because it’s the only concert that I remember that hasn’t been tainted by somebody who has had a little too much to drink.
I take a drink. I love a drink and that tipsy feeling where everything is a little funnier and truths leak out with a little more ease. However, I do not believe alcohol has any place in concert venues. I do not see the point in paying eighty or ninety euro to see a show that you won’t even remember the following day.
My first bad experience was at a Justin Timberlake concert. Mr. Trousersnake was doing his thing on stage and my cousin and I loved it. There were five inebriated girls behind us murdering every note and that didn’t bother me one little bit. I have massacred many a tune in my day.
This was the era of actual camera’s and I had mine wrapped around my wrist when I could feel a hand tugging at it. I thought someone is trying to steal my camera and I wasn’t having a bar of it. I turned to confront my assailant to see one member of the choir behind me about to faint. Her eyes were rolling in the back of her head and her body stiffened before she began to fall to the ground.
Now I know that this may have occurred with or without alcohol but the mayhem that ensued wouldn’t have if the girls were of sound mind.
Two of her mates grabbed her and tried to hold her up while the other two wailed and were of no help to anyone. I pleaded with them to let her fall to the ground. They didn’t listen. They proceeded to drag the unconscious girl, whose clothing was now in her arm pits, across the floor. What happened after that is anybody’s guess.
I had noticed how much they were drinking and wondered how they were managing without several trips to the toilet. The area we were standing in wasn’t over-crowded or too warm, so really for me it was the alcohol that contributed to what happened.
Not only was her experience ruined but it’s very hard to return to enjoying the show after witnessing something like that.
I’ve seen it all when it comes to alcohol related catastrophes at concerts. I’ve dodged vomit and fist fights. There’s been people smoking when it’s clearly forbidden. There was a couple who spent the whole show fighting and the teen that wept the whole way through while she texted. Then there was the lady with ten year old hair extensions that smelled like an old rug. She kept flicking her hair in my face before I had to simply ask her to stop. Her response: “I’m sorry but when I’ve had a few too many. I don’t realise what I’m doing.”
I do not understand why you would part with your hard earned cash to not bother paying attention to the act, however that is your choice.
My beef comes when you encroach on my experience.
I’m there to see the show. If I wanted to be in a room full of drunken people I’d go to a nightclub and save myself a lot of money. I think there is no need for alcohol to be such an integral part of every social situation. If you do drink at every concert I challenge you to a sober experience.
Not only will you enjoy it but you’ll afford other people the courtesy of allowing them to enjoy it too.
Our modern lives have a definite fascination with the rich and famous. That’s not a new phenomenon. Those who entertain the masses have always had a certain allure. What is new though is how accessible stars are to us. Continue reading “I’d Hate to be a Celebrity Mother.”