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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.

I’m feeling sorry for myself. 


I’m ill and I’m feeling sorry for myself.

Whilst I have a cold, my husband has man-flu. Whilst I’m coping, he’s ‘dying.’

We went out to celebrate one of our BFFs birthday last night and ended up home and in bed for 10.30pm whilst our mates partied on.

This am, I’ve played my snapchats back my mates sent downing shots and generally being fucked and I’m laid in bed feeling for myself that my ears are blocked and I can’t hear my own voice (probs no bad think you haters are thinking) and my voice sounds like Estelle in ‘Friends.’

However, for the moaning I’m undertaking, my friends have woken rougher than I have, so I’m ever so slightly smug that I’m not the worst one laid in bed this am.

On that note, I’m off to stuff my face with  Lemsip before our little man arrives back  from his sleep over at his Uncle Ric and Aunty Alex’s – I dare say they’re feeling worse than me anyway! 

I love my husband because…


I’m really not into public declarations of love, mainly because I think it’s a bit sickly to be honest but also because sometimes you don’t want to ram how good you’ve got something, down other people’s throats as I totally appreciate that not everyone’s lives are roses and all that shit.

On this occasion, however, I’m going to make an exception.

I fucking love my husband because today, after a late night all round, when our little boy started yelling his head off when he woke, my husband almost jumped up out of bed and the first words I heard him utter were “let’s let Mummy sleep as she’s really tired.”

A day of Harry emitting Satan like behaviour as he’s tired from a late one last night and having every cartoon shoved at us known to man and Wayne’s nipped out to collect us dinner. This, despite the fact he’s torn cartilage in his knee and finds walking unbearable, never mind driving and he’s not grumbled once today.

I love my husband because simply, he’s the dog’s bollocks.

I hate to disappoint ladies, but “Mr Perfect” doesn’t exist in your world – only mine as I’m lucky enough to have bagged this mofo.

If Carlbserg made husbands; mine would be the very handsome and witty fucking blueprint.

Thank you God, I bagged him!

Where is time going?


Where is time going? A rhetorical question, I know.

It’s been a good while since I last blogged, not because I haven’t wanted to, but because, I’ve simply not had the time.

Time is moving ever so quickly; Harry is ever the bubbly and funny little boy and is the biggest bundle of energy I’ve ever seen! Afternoon naps abandoned, we’re well and truly moving towards being a big boy.

In addition to the subtraction of naps, Harry has hit the ground running in the last few weeks with potty training. Slow to begin with (god why did my fellow Mum friends not worn me hard this stage would be?!). I say slow, really I mean lazy…“Mummy, I’ve just done a wee wee in my pants”  is what we faced on and off and then all of a sudden we were greeted with “Mummy I need a wee wee now!”

Along with potty training, Harry seems to have gathered momentum for being a superb question asker.  “Mummy what’s this?” “Mummy where’s Finn McMissile?” “Mummy can Rocky get in bed with me?” “Mummy do like Dory? I do” “Mummy why is Lightening McQueen red and blue ?” It’s endless, but such fun having such a chatty and charming little boy!

Then there’s the social side of things. Every weekend we seem to be doing something. I honestly can’t remember the last time the three of us snuggled up on the sofa and enjoyed a duvet day. I’m not moaning though – Harry loves being out and about; whether it’s seeing friends and their little munchkins or the family. We’ve seen my Father-in-Law three weekends on the bounce, which has been great and the other day my Dad was to look after Harry in the am. “Grandad Pete is coming over to look after you today” I told Harry “I don’t want to see Grandad  Pete Mummy, I want to see my Grandad Pat” came a sullen little voice – funny how fickle kids can  be!

Then there’s work. Work is mental to say the least, which is good as I can’t bear to be sat around doing nothing to be honest. How anyone is happy to toss it off all day is beyond me – why would you not want to be busy?

Last Friday I was so busy that Harry even came to work with me after his am session at nursery. Deadlines looming, I had no choice but to turn my office into a creche. Potty check, iPad check, books check, ride along Thomas check, high viz jacket check, the entire Disney Cars cast check – you get the picture! Thank god my colleagues managed to entertain the little love – “Mummy, I’ve seen Percy!” Harry exclaimed after being taken to visit the latest addition to our Fleet – what a happy little boy he was after seeing the mega 32t unit! “Mummy, I’ve had fun” Harry sang to me as I pulled out of work at 4pm, mentally and physically exhausted.

Time is flying,  and before we know it, we’ll be proud parents of a 3 year old! Already Harry is telling me who he wants to invite to his party “Mummy, Owen is coming and Frankie and Zak and Henry Giffin. Oliver Oates too but not girls Mummy” – he cracks me right up!

It’s time to focus on Bonfire Night and then Christmas – can’t wait for Christmas this year. I’m trying not to wish time away with it being so precious, but Harry is starting to understand Christmas – or at least the presents bit anyway!

We’ll be taking Harry to Church to help him understand the real reason behind Christmas and that it’s not all about the presents (time will take it’s toll on this I think!). No doubt he’ll be excited at seeing the Crib and it’s contents “Mummy what’s this? he’ll no doubt be shouting in Church, peering into the Manger, but hey, you’re only a child once, so we’ll let him be as inquisitive as he likes – even if it is in Church during a quiet part!

Time for a social life? I don’t think so! There’s date nights…. Very rarely do we have time for a date night (time, again!!!). Last weekend however, we were granted a ‘free pass’ at 3pm to go out that night after one of my brothers and his girlfriend very kindly offered to have handsome for the night. Did we jump at going out? Did we! Harry dropped at Aunty Alex and Uncle Ric’s, we were straight out for a curry. We were home and in pjs for 9pm, but at least we still had time together. So many couples fall into the trap of ignoring each other or sleeping in separate rooms (that’s just weird – it must be like living with a roomate) so we try whenever we can to spend quality time together and be “us” again.

Soon it’ll be Christmas and we’ve two whole weeks together with our munchkin; theatre and dinner out the day we break for Christmas and then bang, we’ll wake and it’s Christmas Eve! Whilst we’re off, we’ll enjoy family time and finally get round to just chilling – roll on lazy days watching Christmas films with hot chocolate and sweets – where we won’t be giving two hoots about “time”!

 

 

 

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.

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

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