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The ramblings of Mrs. Hoolihan

My rants on life and everything in between. Desperately trying to remind myself that it's just not worth the jail time.

The ‘Thunderbolt’ moment.


I’ve not really ever encountered many ‘thunderbolt’ moments in my life, but recently I had one and it hit me hard. Very hard.

Sadly I’ve come to the realisation, that the old clique of ‘A leopard never changes its spots’ is not only true, but absolutely and absurdly spot on too.

If someone doesn’t behave how you’d like them behave, then sadly, don’t waste your energy or time in trying to change them. There’s only you that will end up with a headache and a heavy heart.

I’m rather judgmental of people; I make my mind up immediately whether you’re an arsehole or not – it’s quite easy really – you’re either nice or you’re not. I’m usually right about people, but on this occasion, for once, I concede I was wrong and I’m fine that I was wrong – my pride doesn’t get in the way one bit, I’m human after-all and humans make mistakes.

The person / people in question aren’t arseholes as such before you go judging me; they are in fact,  good and decent human beings, they just lack thought and appreciation. I just thought that circumstance would change them but it hasn’t and I’m sad for them. Sad for them and sad for me. And sad for what could have been.

There’s only so much you can try before you throw the towel in and declare you can’t be arsed, but for me, there’s only this option – a leopard doesn’t change its spots. No amount of good will and positive thinking will change this, no amount of silent yelling in your head at that person and no amount of regret in your heart can either. So save yourself the headache and heartache and walk away.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m walking away with my self respect and dignity in tact and I’ve learnt my lesson – no second, third, fourth or fifth chances; we’re done and I won’t ever make the same mistake again – in a parallel universe somewhere, all is calm, all is serene and everyone is happy…..

 

Thank god it’s over.


Thank God it’s over. The wedding.

The dust is now settling and I have, what everyone else has had for the last year and that’s my life back.

This time last year we changed our wedding venue and decided to enjoy a quintessential British wedding complete in the British countryside with a marquee, afternoon tea and Pimms ahoy. When we decided to embark upon this exciting adventure, I’m not sure we quite understood what we had taken on, especially as I was studying quite intensely at the time too.

Exams sat weeks before Christmas, Christmas came and went and then that was it. Full on wedding mode. And that’s how it was right up until I set foot in Church.

Months of planning and all my worries evaporated the moment I stepped into Church and saw my husband to be’s beaming smile!

The honeymoon may be over, but we’re definitely enjoying the start of married life. Something feels ‘different’ – a sense or feeling I’m not sure which, of more togetherness.

I think I must be the only Bride who doesn’t mourn the fact that the wedding is over and is just simply happy, to be finally married. It was never about the ‘big wedding’ – it was about the ‘traditional’ wedding and the fact Wayne and I were marrying or uniting if you like; formally making him and his Dad a part of my family – Wayne and his Dad are adored by my family so formalising it was only a matter of course really.

Yes, the wedding may be over but I’m glad. We enjoyed the most magical day ever (barring the very notable absence of a number of people sadly) and the important thing wasn’t the party or dress, but that we committed to one another. We begin a new chapter in our lives together that so many wonderful family and friends were happy to be a part of, but that’s past now and we have a wonderful future to look forward to!

This Christmas will be wonderful; a united family, with the usual games and laughter – but this time, I’ll be Team Hoolihan – straying to the dark side to assist my husband and Father in Law in smashing my brothers and sisters!

My husband will come home to me cooking tea in my veil and yes, the wedding cards still adorn every free space of our home, but it’s time to look forward to the rest of our lives as married couple with our precious son and family. Happy times to continue!

 

 

Day 3 of married life.


Well it’s day 3 of married and quite simply, it couldn’t be more perfect.

Saturday was the best day ever! The rain held off until tea time and then we enjoyed England’s finest rain it had to offer. Did it spoil it? Hell no! It added to the atmosphere; friends and family pulling together to ensure no one was soaked running from the marquee to the bar and back, buggies were under cover and that everyone had fun. 

Both my Dad and my Father in Law were on top form and so much laughter exuded both – an absolute pleasure to witness! We asked my FIL to read a reading from the bible (1 Corinthians 13) and when he welled up, half the church held thier breath a amazing! 

Harry was a a dream (as always) and in waiting for me to arrive at church (30 mins late – Wayne was anxious I heard!) he fell asleep. Little love!

Dancing, rain, afternoon tea – a day to remember for certain! 

My new husband is more than anyone could wish for; just too cute seeing how emotional he was throughout the day. Incredibly privileged to call Wayne my husband – I couldn’t be prouder of him! 

We’re presently on honeymoon and being the dutiful wife, we’re enjoying the delights of the Euros at present – small things make him happy! 

Signing out to enjoy a drink with my husband – could life be anymore perfect? 

Bastarding baby gates.


Last night I tripped and fell over the bastarding baby gate in our hall way. Ironic you may add for a woman whose recently completed a gruelling health and safety course in Construction.

Anyway, it occurred as I climbed over (as I always do), being nearly 5ft 10 it’s easy enough seeing as I’m way too lazy to open the damn thing. So I straddled over it and it wasn’t locked, so it flew open and I’ve fuck all idea what happened at this point and  so I’m not sure what body part became entangled but it resulted with me smashing my knees up, landing on my left, smashing my wrists and foot and somehow, hurting my face ( I don’t recall smashing this, but let’s be honest after minimal sleep Saturday post hen do number 2 and less than 4 hours sleep), anything could have happened.

Wayne, of course, laughed his head off at me following this noisey commotion and instead of picking me up from the floor, where I was pretty much star fishing by this point, he left me in a heap. Today, I ache like a mofo. With less than 4 weeks to the wedding, my Maid of Honour has berated me and although she hasn’t said it aloud, I can literally hear her calling me a fucking moron (Monica from Friends mark 2, I’m certain she’d wrap me in cotton wool and lock me in the loft until the big day if she could have her way).

So the moral of today’s rant is this. Don’t have fucking  baby gates – they’re a trip hazard and dangerous to real-life, grown human beings. Small people simply need to learn that bit quicker and so asap, I’m going to risk assess the whole bastarding baby gate scenario with Harry and introduce him to the world of being a careful bastard. God help me.

 

 

 

The end of an era is looming.


The end of an era is looming. 34 years to be precise. For 34 years, I’ve been Miss D and soon, in 26 days in fact, I’ll very proudly become Mrs H.

As a little girl, you dream of what your name will be once you grow up and get married; you doodle your autograph until the cows come home but the one thing you don’t give any thought or indeed concern to, is the loss of your maiden name.

Up until recently, I’d not really given it a second thought. Until now. And all of a sudden, I feel like I’m mourning a part of me. Although not a physical part of me, it’s a huge part of who I am, where I’m from and it’s my identity.

Upon discussing this with my fiance, he very kindly (and matter of factly), told me that if it makes me happy, to continue and keep my maiden name. I won’t as I’m marrying him and call me old fashioned, but I like that you take your husband’s name (yes suffragettes I can hear you turning in your graves, but don’t worry I’ll be using my vote wisely next month, so not all is lost).

2 years since our little Prince arrived and finally, we’ll all have the same surname. It may be my Catholic upbringing, but I still feel terribly uneasy when I’m asked my name where our son is concerned and I reply with Miss D – the guilt and the shame kicks in, ridiculous at my age, but you can’t shun what you’ve been brought up to believe.

So on that note, even though I’ll be sad to lose my name, I’ll embrace my new one with vigour and excitement – excitement at the next part of our lives together and that of formally joining my husband’s family. There may only be my Father in Law, but he’s a cracking old soul and I’ll be delighted to call him my FIL and indeed, take his name too, that of my husband and of course of my son.

Soon enough it’ll be good bye Miss D, but hello Mrs H and on to a brand new chapter in our lives. And I simply can’t wait.

 

 

Day 1 of wanting to kill myself.


I’m no skinny minny, but I’m not a fatty either. I don’t look in the mirror and cringe – as a rule I’m rather happy with myself day to day. The only time I’m not happy is when I have to put a dress on (working in Construction means that this rarely occurs during the week) and then I start lamenting how I really shouldn’t have smashed the last bag of crisps.

It’ 8 weeks and 3 days till we say ‘I do’ and I need to drop a stone. 1 WHOLE STONE.Drastic action has been taken. With the support of my cousins, we’ve joined ‘Slimming World’; if it kills us, we’re losing in time for this wedding.

So here it is, day 1. I’ve read my literature and I’m determined to do this. With the diet of a pre-pubescent teenage boy, I’ve to also look past the aesthetics and re-educate myself when it comes to food.

This is going to be one, long and painful journey so forgive me now in advance of the amount of whining I’ll commit. It’s not a diet I keep telling myself as I stride past the plate of Oreos on display, but rather a change of lifestyle…

God; give me strength.

Are people born wankers?


Are people born wankers? Or is it a case of circumstance?

This very thought has been running around my head for some time now and I always seem to be drawn back to the one same conclusion; it’s a DNA defect and therefore, they’re born a wanker.

Wankers come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and at first encounters, they may not always exhibit wanker-like behaviour, although it always comes to light at some point and the big reveal that they’re a wanker, never comes as a surprise.

I know people who I deem to be wankers. Yes that’s a social taboo saying it about people you know, but I’ve said it, I mean it and I won’t take it back. I’m just brutally honest and well, frankly I’m past giving a proverbial shit on what anyone else has to say. At 35, having enough life experience under my belt, in my opinion, affords to be as honest as I want to be and well, if you don’t like it, don’t read my blog and huff and puff at the spillings of my mind.

I’ve just witnessed wankerish behaviour first hand and this is what’s driven me to rant and moan about wankers. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s not that I don’t really like people, I do. I just can’t see past their wankerish qualities and thinly veiled shit at times when it’s almost knocking me out and is all up in my grill.

So, what makes a wanker then?

It’s simple; you’re either a wanker or your not. I guess you can’t help being a wanker if it is indeed a genetic defect, but what you can do is lessen your wankerish behaviour. But then it leads to another question which is;

“Does one know that they’re a wanker? Or does one live in wankerish bliss?”

Quite frankly, I’m at an age where I don’t care. I can now see straight through people, I can glide through that bullshit like a knife through microwaved butter and I see people for the straight up mother fucking wankers that they are.

Word up. If you’re reading this and you’re a wanker, be less wankerish.

Better still, take a long hard look at yourself, your pathetic little existence and ask yourself one question; why be a wanker?

The wedding dress. Its arrived.


Today I got THE call.

The call I’ve been waiting months for; the call to say my wedding dress has finally arrived.

I’m excited, nervous and I feel sick. What if I don’t like it? What if I chose it in a moment of madness? What if I look like mutton dressed as lamb (we’ve all see that bride and thought, why oh why), equally I don’t want to look like I’ve packed myself in to it either.

What will Wayne think? Will he like it? Will he cry? Again, we’ve all seen the upset bride when the groom doesn’t turn round or cry with pride.

All these worries are running around my head and I feel sick – I just want it be perfect!

Further update to come once I’ve headed back to the shop! xx

Happy 2nd birthday my little love!


Happy birthday my darling son! Today you turn 2 and Mummy is sat here wondering how this has happened so fast?

This time 2 years ago (Daddy hates when I reminisce but it’s good for the soul and the mind my love), Mummy was cradling you in her arms – I was thunderstruck by your arrival (and how big you were!) and I couldn’t believe you’d finally arrived, safely (although it was very touch and go at points) and how beautiful you were.

A 16 hour labour filled with Daddy making Mummy laugh the whole way through and we couldn’t have envisioned what a beautiful little baby you’d be. Actually, Mummy is lying. When you born, you weren’t pretty – not immediately anyway. You were battered and bruised and very, very swollen – 2 days later and and you were a corker, an absolute beauty my little love!

And here we are, anyway, 2 years later and you’re quite a little boy. Incredibly well mannered (people are always commenting on how you always remember to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’), polite, boisterous and funny; we couldn’t be prouder of you.

This am you opened your presents from Mummy, Daddy, Aunty T, Aunty Laura & Grandad Pat’s card as well as Nanny & Grandad Ron’s  and you were thrilled, but little did you know that Mummy & Daddy have another present for you this evening to open once your Aunty & Uncles and Grandad Pete arrive and Mummy is so excited, she can’t concentrate today!

“Thank you Daddy” you said when Daddy opened you your Mickey flip flops from Aunty T – so polite and thankful; Mummy’s eyes were brimming at how cute you were. You’ve been spoilt by Aunty T and Uncle Nige and no doubt your other Aunts and Uncles and Grandad Pete will later too – you’re the apple of their eye after-all and they love to shower you with attention and in return, you adore them too.

We’ve your party on Saturday; all your favourite people under one roof – you’ll be in your element no doubt! All your cousins will be present; they adore you and you adore them too – it’s so cute to see you altogether, especially Lexi as she trys to boss you around!

2 whole years we’ve been lucky enough to be Mummy & Daddy to you and you’re a pleasure to be around. Witty, articulate & funny – Mummy could go on all day!

You’ve enriched our lives beyond belief; we’re the lucky ones to be graced with you and whilst you’ll always, always, always be my baby, I look forward to the future milestones we’re going to share with you and I cherish each and every day with you and all the memories we’re making.

I’ll continue to document your life and hopefully one day, when you’re older, should you want to, you can look back and read Mummy’s blogs with the love and affection in which I write these.

For now my little one, enjoy your 2nd birthday and with much love, hugs and happiness, Mummy will sign off.

Happy birthday Harry, my darling little love, all my love, Mummy xxxxxx

 

 

 

 

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