Give The Stay at Home Mum the Job

mummy's writing darling

Why you should give the stay at home mum the job

She’s got a four year gaping hole on her CV and she’s got an interview – she can’t quite believe it. She’s forgotten how people who work dress. She runs off to buy a power-suit with maxi shoulder pads and realises work based fashion has shifted. Just being out of her onesie feels exhilarating.

Before she knows it she’s sat in front of an intimidating panel, her dusty resume in front of her, her knees are weak, arms are heavy, there’s every possibility that there’s vomit on her blouse already. The adult humans are asking complex, challenging questions and she’s beaming like a Cheshire cat, buzzing like a fridge, just to be out of the house.

How would you motivate your team?

I find raisins, a pink wafer and one hour of screen time helps. Failing that? An acoustic rendition of ‘wheels on the bus’.

What are your skills?

Multitasking, blocking out interruptions, counselling and supporting others. For example, I can finish a three course meal between wiping arses and explaining why Bing killed a butterfly and/or why the dog died in Topsy and Tim.

Are you ready to be a manager? 

Honey, I’ve been managing shit for four years. I am the discipliner, negotiator, queen of threats. I will take your cuddly toy hostage. I’m the God Damn United Nations.

What will you bring to the workplace?

Enthusiasm. Sheer joy that I’m able to have hot coffee, uninterrupted lunch or toilet breaks without a small person asking me if I’m doing a poo poo and giving me a round of applause.

How good are you at problem solving?

My son was crying because his toast was in squares, not triangles. So I told him people weren’t allowed triangle toast on Wednesdays. (Mic Drop).

So give the post stay at home mum the job. Don’t underestimate her. She’s seen things, she’s dealt with things you can’t even imagine. She will value this job like no other. She is ready for any responsibility you throw at her. She is ready for a pay slip.

Give her the chance – and watch her soar!

mummy's writing darling
new job!

The imagined army of shite mothers

mummy's writing darling

The imagined army of shite mothers

A few weeks ago I was sat on the bus to work after carting off my kids to strangers at astronomically expensive nurseries when I became aware of numerous passengers avoiding the seat in front of me.

The lady next to me and I leant forward at the same time to see what it was that people were avoiding. The offensive item was a Dairylea dunker packet that had been left there. It was surrounded by gooey melted cream cheese all over the leather seat. The lady and I smiled at each other in a ‘aaahhh’ moment and she proceeded to clean it up with her own tissues. What a lovely human being I thought, so I smiled at her and told her that was a lovely thing to do. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge.

The “lady” turned to me and stated “you know who that would have been? Some Mum.”

She said “mum” with a slight snarl.

She continued “some mum who didn’t give her kids a proper breakfast so just gave them a Dairylea dunker and then let her kid leave it all over the seat!”

I smiled back, my eyes dead, the realisation being that I have now accidentally bonded with the antichrist. I tried to inch my way away from her as I wondered a couple of things.

What is so wrong about a breakfast of Dairylea dunkers? Surely that’s calcium innit? and…

Why is it that folk are so quick to jump to a conclusion that mothers are generally shite?

Why is it that it must be a mother who is failing at mothering? Where was the dad when she was shovelling Dairylea in the child’s mouth? Why must it be a crap mum? Why couldn’t it have been an elderly Gentleman on his way to the opticians? Or a student rushing to an exam? Where is the sympathy for a busy working mum? Where is the love?

Can we please not assume that all mothers are generally shite? Can we, instead, assume that all mothers are doing their absolute best at a freaking tough gig?

And that Dairylea dunkers are a legitimate breakfast choice.

I should have said all of this to the woman but of course I didn’t. She got off at the University before stating “I better do well in my exam now, after that good deed” I smiled back. “Only if you’re studying ‘how to be a judgemental Gobshite’” I thought.

(Disclaimer – This post was not sponsored by Dairylea).

shite mothers
Imagined army of shite mothers

Why I wanted to walk with my son in the rain

Why I wanted to walk with my son in the rain

The rain was falling hard. Last week I excitedly picked up my four year old school boy child from his minder. The door opened, I saw his pocket sized face and all the work day’s crap melted away. “Come on darling!” I said “Now put on your coat, it’s really raining outside.” And it was – great big pelts of angry water thudding on top of my yellow mac.

“I’m going your way, I’ll give you a lift” the lady said. “No, no, that’s fine” I argued. ”

I insist” she squealed, half watching the rain wondering why I wouldn’t take her up on her kind rescue.

“No, really, no thanks.” I said seriously, and I led my son towards our special short cut in his matching yellow mac.

She is a lovely, kind lady. She’s a life saver. But I wasn’t going to let her take the walk in the rain with my son away from me.

What she can’t understand is what that walk means to me.

I work hours that mean I can’t take him to school, I can’t even pick him up from school – but I can pick him up from a childminder and walk home with him, whatever the weather.

This isn’t just a walk. This is when I have my precious boy all to myself, his attention purely on me. It’s a time I get to hear what he did at school, which is, granted, only usually ever “I can’t remember,” but that still matters.

It’s the time we get to take our own special short cut that only we know. It’s the time we get to stop and look at the leaves and their different shapes and colours, and even pick a few and stuff them in our macs like we are sharing an exciting secret.

It’s the time he can use expressions I have never heard before like ‘therefore’ or ‘terrific’ which results in me bursting into spontaneous laughter for the first time that day. It’s the time he can tell me his feelings in soft, safe quiet. It’s the time he can tell me my shoes are beautiful (out of nowhere) before asking me if that’s a nice thing to say, because he always wants to say nice things.

On our walk I can tell him he makes me happier than happy, and he can tell me he wants to always make everyone happy.

I can say a silent prayer, as the rain falls, that he will never change. Then we can get his younger brother from the nursery. Finally, the three of us are together, completely together. Nothing else matters.

God willing, when they are older, I’ll remember these precious gifts – these simple walks, hand in hand with my boys – the only things that matter in my entire world.

Our walk, our time together, is as precious as life. We might be sodden, we might be cold, we might slip and slide, but we can warm each other, keep each other grounded, and some days we might even get to share a rainbow.