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.



Another year gone Mummy….

2.50am, 2nd March 2011 you were beckoned to Heaven to become an Angel.

Our world stopped. Tick tock, Tick tock, the silence suddenly became so deafening.

Filled with bleakness, panic and a void, we’d only ever known the strength and love of you our Mum and of Dad too. A quiet, steely strength, you were the anchor of our family ship.

The life and soul, you’d light a room with your presence. Never one to shout and scream, you quite literally held the patience of a saint.

Never one to complain, you always put others before yourself. Upon reaching you at hospital at 11.30pm on 1st March, on seeing me enter that little room, your first words were, “Jen love, what’re you doing here, you’ve work tomorrow?” Hours from death and you were more worried about me than yourself – your love for us children was your only thought, not what you were about to face – your love never waived, we were never second only ever first to you.

When you died, a piece of us died with you. A void swept in; shock overcame us and time stood still. It’s been 6 years now and not a day goes by that  I don’t think of you, wish you were here or long one last time, to hug  and smell your skin, the way I used to as a little girl.

You’re still with us, I know for certain. I know you were there on my wedding day last year, the sunbeam on the photos when there was no sun demonstrated your presence. Last year you also missed the birth of your 4th grandchild, your first Granddaughter, Isla’Rose. A little beauty, I know that you’ll be the proudest Grandmother in Heaven and each night, you’ll be looking over your beautiful grandchildren, ensuring their safety as they dream of all things sugar and spice and all things nice…

Harry asked me the other day whose Mummy Nanny Marilyn was and I explained she’s Daddy’s Mummy. He then asked me where my Mummy was and I told him that Nanny Karen is a twinkle twinkle in the star and he asked if you ever spoke to me.. My heart broke but I was determined not to cry – you’d laugh and cry at my beautiful and funny little man – he quite simply has no idea how much I miss you.

I wish you could join us from Heaven once again, if only for one last time for larger than life family meals to meet the newest members of our ever expanding family. You’d adore Wayne and Ross – they’d never tire of your never ending feeding! Your grandchildren you’d adore and you’d relish being able to enjoy looking after the munchkins of a weekend and whilst we worked, baking and cooking with them all – you’d have them domesticated before they even went to school!

Dad, Dave, Ric, Jolene, Maffu and Baby Jayne miss you terribly Mummy. Time may distance us but our hearts never will. You’ll be pleased to know that we’re all as close as ever and together, we always ensure that your memory is kept alive.

Dave undertakes his climb to Everest’s basecamp later this year; please watch over him and keep him safe as  he climbs that bit closer to Heaven won’t you?

Another year may have passed Mummy and yes the void is still there, the pain is still there (sometimes it’s as raw as the day you were beckoned) but I can still feel your warmth, hear your infectious laugh and feel your arms around me – our memories never fade and a piece of you is will always be with me xxx





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





My Mummy. My Angel.

It’s been 5 years since Mummy was beckoned to become an Angel. 5 long years without her.

Sometimes  I hear her voice, capture a passing whiff of her perfume or hear an old Motown record and she’s right back in the room with us again.

Mummy didn’t want to die. On hearing the dreadful diagnosis of Cancer her words were simple according to my Dad, “I can’t have Cancer; I’ve 6 children”.

October 2006 is when those words were uttered and Mummy would quietly, with no fuss, battle the bastarding Cancer that would eventually kill her. Watching your parent, who you’ve always looked up to, battle a disease, is horrific. Luckily Mummy’s hair didn’t fall out, but she’d be confined to the family home for days on end; tired, withdrawn and sometimes ebbing at an all time low – the despair I think would torment her of her of what would happen to Dad and my brothers and sisters should she succumb to the fucker.

Not once did she ever ask why. Mummy wasn’t frightened of death; she never spoke of dying, I don’t think she could look it in the eye, but she wasn’t afraid – she was afraid for those she was leaving behind.

Mummy is always with us, I know that. She’d never leave us. Eternally 51, I know she’s looking out for each of us and she’d be proud of the people we’ve all become.

Dad although he misses her terribly and visits her grave without fail, every single day, is both Mum & Dad to us. He has his moments, but slowly, he’s realizing that you wouldn’t want him to mope each and every single day.

Dave is an incredible Daddy to little Davy who you missed on meeting by 2 months and Richard has become a Teacher. Joanne is your carbon copy Mum and thinks of everyone else but herself and Matthew has graduated uni with a 2:1 ! Jayne is now Mummy to Thomas who is 7 months old and a little treasure and all bar Dave who is yet to meet the woman of his dreams, we’ve such amazing partners, you’d love the lovely bones of each of them!

And then there’s me. You’d be surprised wouldn’t you at me becoming a Mummy! Always so focused on everything but children and not even liking them! Harry’s nearly 2 and an absolute dream – I know you visit him – whether it’s in his dreams or if you talk quietly to him, but I know you’re with him after what he said the other morning to Wayne.

My Mummy is my angel guardian and I know she looks to keep my family from harm. I know that when our time eventually comes, you’ll be there at those Pearly Gates, chewing St Peter’s ear off and once again, one, by one, our family will join  together again.



I can’t concentrate.

I can’t concentrate.

I’m tired, I’m ratty (I feel this, no one’s actually confirmed this) and can’t think straight. I’ve a lot on at the moment and I feel like I could actually sleep for 10,000 years. OK so a slight exaggeration, but you get me don’t you?

Today is my middle sister’s birthday and I have to confess, I almost missed it. Last year I missed a few people’s birthdays (one being my Dad – my Dad! How the hell I forgot that, I’ll never know) and a few people got arsey about it, yeah I get it, but my life doesn’t revolve around you, it revolves around our soon to be 2 year old, Harry and my husband to be is nearly 37 but stuck in the mindset of a 14 year old boy. Oh and paying the not so little mortgage we have.

So this year I thought I’d be organised and write all birthdays in my diary – and I’ve still forgotten. I’ve forgotten to check my diary and if it wasn’t for Facebook reminding me, I’d have forgotten once again.

I’m putting my lack of concentration, tiredness and all round mardiness down to trying to juggle Mummyhood, Fianceehood, our forthcoming wedding (not long now!), a demanding full-time job (which I love so I’m not at all complaining) and being a domestic goddess (unsuccessfully as our house permanently looks like a bombsite since we let go of our last cleaner).

I’ve never felt so tired trying to juggle all this (thank god the studying finished in December to give me a break). If I’m not collecting Harry from Nursery or his beloved Grandparents, I’m trying to amuse and play with him whilst cooking dinner and playing with the dog. If not this, then I’m trying to find bunting for the wedding, or decide upon which toilets to hire in for the day, trying to juggle maid of honour and bridemsaids dresses or I’m failing miserably at trying to maintain a decent looking house in case anyone pops by.

With all this whirring around my head, a forthcoming Audit at work, worrying if the cars service or MOT has run overdue seeing as I miss everything else, I barely have time for 2 minutes to myself. These days having a wee on my own, in the privacy of my own en-suite feels like a smug day at the Spa. I just can’t seem to concentrate so I’m perpetually caught up in what I can only describe as a whirlwind of everyday life.

Even when I’m sleeping, my mind is off on one!

It may seem like I’m complaining; far from it (though the haters will no doubt disagree -go jump off a bridge is my advice to whatever sarky shit you’re thinking), i just sometimes wish there were two of me! Life would be so much easier – me 1 could whirl about doing the doing whilst me 2 could simply think. If only life were that easy!

Well off I trot; I already feel somewhat calmer for this somewhat calmly approached rant and well, it stops me ripping the nearest persons head off in any case. I really should write more, maybe when Harry’s a tad older I’ll have the time – maybe I’ll even wrote a novel. My little man is so terribly independent (takes after his Mummy) and soon he’ll realise there’s a whole world out there to explore and he won’t rely on Mummy & Daddy quite so much. Until then,  the whirlwind of my life will continue!

In the words of Christian Grey, Laters Baby!




Refusing to go to bed.

Over the last few days, we’ve interrupted Harry’s routine. The result? Almost disaster, I’ll tell you what.

Before Harry arrived, the one thing that I promised Wayne we’d do, would be to ensure that our baby a) had a bed time routine and b) knew that he or she would have to stick to it (by and large I mean by this, I’m not some sort of Nazi after all). Anyway, Harry’s always had a routine and has always, barring from a few exceptions such as teething, stuck to it. Sometimes he’s even been known to take himself off up to bed ahead of his usual time.

So as I say, the last few days for one reason or another, he’s gone to bed in excess of his bedtime by about an hour. Well Holy Mother of God has this affected him, has it.

The night before last, the Christmas tree went up and we didn’t feel it’d be fair to send Harry to bed until we’d finished – he did have to pop the fairy on top after all. After a little fuss, Harry went to bed, but it wasn’t without some persuasion and bribery shall we say.

Last night his beloved Aunty Jo and Uncle Ross paid a visit – I wish they hadn’t to be honest. I love seeing them, I love them as individuals, I do, I do, I do, but god, they caused havoc (I mean that in a nice way Jo & Ross if you read this). At the mention of Uncle Ross coming over, Harry undertook laps around the house, giving any long distance runner a run (excuse the pun) for their money. Was Harry excited they were coming to visit? Oh just a tad.

Laughter, tickles and lots of shrieking followed and by the time they left, a few hours later, Harry was revved up like a 90s teen off their face on Speed at a rave. Ace.

Two attempts at settling Harry to bed, were an absolute failure to say the very least. “Mummy, Mummy”   the arms were around my neck trying to strangle me in Harry’s attempt not to be put to bed. The second was Wayne trying to let him ‘self settle’. What a load of bollocks that is; if they don’t pass out from a sore throat at the bellowing, then you probably will from the incessant wailing emitting round your ears and banging migraine that ensues. That didn’t work either, so back downstairs he came. Another bottle of milk , Disney Cars for about the 56th time this week and a laughing Harry sat smugly in his Daddy’s arms (he’s totally learn how to play us off against one another).

Third time’s a charm right? Nope you’d be wrong there. The whole family wrapped up (we were all in pjs by this point), we loaded the car up and went for a family drive in the freezing cold. Just what you need during British wintertime.No sooner had we set off and before the warmth could kick in, finally the munchkin fell asleep….

I guess my moan or rant or point or whatever you wanna call it, is that really, don’t fuck with your kiddie winkles bed time routine. You’re basically holding yourself to ransom and ultimately you become the victim of your own success.

Tonight we’ll be back to the usual routine; tea, playtime, bath and then a story, followed by a bottle of milk whilst watching ‘In the Night Garden’ – I hate that bloody programme with a passion, but Harry finds it hilarious so as long as he’s happy, Mummy’s happy.

Tonight I will not be the victim of my own success.

Losing loved ones & impending Christmas time.

Losing loved ones isn’t easy. It’s the absolute pits.

It doesn’t matter how old they are, how ill they were; who they were to you (step or biological) nothing can prepare you for the passing of a loved one.

I’ve had two friends lose their beloved Father and another his Mum in the last few weeks. Both passings couldn’t be different – one had sadly been poorly for a very long time and the other, tragically died instantly in a car crash. The circumstances are still the same irrespective of the build up of events that led to their passing.

My heart breaks for my friends. There’s nothing of any comfort at all that can be said to soften their hurt. No amount of hugs can make them feel any less lonely and no amount of words can heal their worried minds.

There’s no ‘good’ time to lose a loved one, I should know, I lost my beloved Grandfather two weeks before Christmas a number of years ago and Mummy in March 4 years ago. However, the lead up to Christmas is a horrific time to lose someone.

Christmas is family time. It’s that time of year, you enjoy spending time with those nearest and dearest to you. Yes there’s tears (there’s always that one family member who grates on you), but there’s laughter too, and lots of it too. And that’s what makes losing a loved one at this time of year so hard; you should be listening to their laughter yet all you feel is a void and all you can hear is an eery silence.

The first Christmas we had after losing Mummy was undoubtedly the hardest Christmas my family have ever had. Mummy’s absence was the elephant in the room; brave faces and smiles to paste over the quivering lips, I don’t believe I ever thought Christmas could ever be so sad…

And that’s why I can’t help but think of my friends. Day and night I can’t help but think of them. My pain isn’t as raw as it was (if you’ve never lost a parent, you can’t imagine the pain and it never goes away, you just learn to live with that pain in your heart) but it still hurts, a dull ache in your chest. Even though I’ve lost a parent, springtime when she passed brought a new sense of life. The trees started to blossom not too long afterwards, birds had returned and flowers began to peep through.

This time of year isn’t centred around any of these things – it’s all about Christmas and family. They’ll get through this horrific Christmas (two of my friends have children and this will help like you wouldn’t believe), but it’s going to be the hardest thing they’ve done to date and my heart couldn’t break any more for them…There’s light but it’ll be a long time before they can see even a chink of it.

Brought up Catholic, I believe in Heaven and that’s where I believe Mummy is. It’s where I believe my friends parents are too.

I believe they never leave us and walk beside us every day, unseen and unheard but always there…..



Harry – you’re our world.

Harry, you’re only 19 months old, but in the relatively short time that you’ve graced mine and your Daddy’s lives, you’ve filled it with nothing but laughter, love and that feeling of ultimate completeness.

You’ve always been a very happy, smiley baby; even when you were tiny, you’d belly laugh at your little dog, Rocky. You’d tease him with your toys and as you’ve both grown together, that love you have for one another has grown too and it’s safe to say (thank goodness!) you’ve become the best of brothers.

Each morning we wake to hear you chattering to your teddy bears, followed by little laughter and ‘Mummy!’ ‘Daddy!’ – that’s your q to telling us you’re done with bedtime and so we carry you out and sit you in bed (often with Daddy), whilst you dictate what you should watch ‘choo choo’ – yep you’ve guessed it, you LOVE Chuggington! ‘More’ you’ll shout, when an episode concludes and so we give in to you, it’s too hard not to as you gaze up at us with those big, beautiful blue eyes!

Your independence has dumb founded Mummy. Only the other day, you insisted on walking down stairs, un-aided by Mummy, only holding the staircase for dear life – I can honestly say you have no fear, and Mummy’s heart is often in her mouth!

You pace around the house with such a sense of purpose; you seem to know where you’re going and what you want – even if it is only to run into one of the spare bedrooms to play hide and seek. Everyday is new and thrilling for you – you’re happy to explore and you’re a joy to watch. Watching your little brow furrow as you’re puzzled, I find myself biting my lip to stop Mummy from laughing. The last thing I want to do is ever make you feel self-conscious – even if I find you comical as you work the basics of life out.

You’re always willing to try something new; I’ll never forget the time in TGI Friday’s when you tasted ice-cream for the very first time. You almost hyperventilated! We couldn’t understand how you could so happily suck on a piece of lemon but yet find the taste of ice-cream so discerning!

Mummy and Daddy’s greatest hope is that you’re happy and healthy. You can have all the worldly goods, but if you don’t possess happiness or health, then sadly my little one, you’ll have nothing…

You’re our greatest achievement and we couldn’t be prouder – may you always smile and laugh and be healthy; if you’re happy and content, then life will then fall easily into place and you’ll be a content little chap with life.

All our love our beautiful little one, Mummy & Daddy xxxx

Bad decisions.

Bad decisions. We’ve all made these from time to time. Some have made them worse than others, however, it’s not for us to judge, the big fella upstairs I believe, will do that one day.

I’m not sure what started me thinking about bad decisions, I think it’s my sister. My sister is hoping to be a teacher and was telling me that in British schools these days, children aren’t taught that they’re naughty, but rather, that they’ve “made a bad decision.” Children are then encouraged, that once they’ve understood that they’ve made a bad decision, how do they turn this in to a positive decision and outcome.

This recently led me to think about our little Prince, Harry, who’s one. Recently it would appear the’ terrible twos’ have arrived early (on occasion). If Harry doesn’t want to do something, he lets Mummy and Daddy know – in no uncertain terms. Now I know that children often paddy and throw themselves around, and Harry will and does do this, but I’m not about to raise a brat.

I’ve witnessed brattish behaviour over the years and it’s awful to see, because in my opinion, brattish kids turn in to horrific adults and then the damage is done and the bad decision has been well truly executed. Hence me wanting to nip Harry’s behaviour in the bud as he gets older, should he continue to display it as that will be a very bad decision on my part that I most certainly won’t be able to turn in to a good one, as the damage will be done by then.

Sometimes we make bad decisions consciously and sometimes they’re unconscious.The unconscious decisions can sometimes be far worse than the conscious ones, but I guess what really matters is how we put these right regardless of how you got there.

The problem doesn’t lay where a bad decision has been made, that in a way, is irrelevant,  but it’s how it’s rectified. You know when you’ve made a bad decision, what makes you a better person I guess, is if you decide to rectify it and then how you do it.

If you know you’ve made a bad decision and decide to nothing about it, then on your conscience be it – I guess you live it because what other option do you have?

When it comes to teaching our little Prince Harry, the rights and wrongs of life, he’ll also be taught that whilst sometimes, bad decisions are inevitable, it’s how you rectify it and this is what matters the most…

Childbirth. It’s not as bad as you think.

Childbirth. It’s not as bad as you think. Or so I was told.

I was terrified of giving birth; shitting bricks didn’t even come close. I’ve always been honest and open that it petrified me and that it was something I never felt the urge to do. It was so bad that I begged for a C-Sec, a big no, no when it comes to the medical profession (and my Physiotherapist Fiance too, who was worried about infection and damage to stomach muscles).

“Why do you want to be cut open?” I remember being asked by my Midwife.  I could’ve punched her in the baby making oven at that moment. What the fuck? “Who the hell wants to be cut open at any time,” I was screaming in my head, but of course I didn’t say that, because I feared it’d trigger an argument and I wasn’t in the mood for shit at that point.

I’ve never thought any part of having a baby was ‘natural’. Even as a child pregnant women weirded me out and still to this day, I freak when near them. Having been pregnant you’d think I’d have come out the other side on some hippy trail singing the beauty. Er no. I’m still weirded out – especially when school friends get pregnant – it’s weird I know.

Anyway back to the whole giving birth thing. I was so grossed out by it (much to the amusement and also dismay of friends) – I mean it’s the most natural thing in the world, isn’t it? No, not it’s not in my opinion. So after a number of frustrating discussions with my Midwife, she referred me to a therapist. Great, let’s go through the whole sch-bang – again I thought. And I did. Finally after much to’ing and fro’ing on the medical professional’s front, they talked me into ‘trying’ a natural delivery. ‘Try’ I laughed, so what, half way through if I don’t like it, I can opt for a C-Sec eh? No love, it doesn’t quite work like that.

Well D Day arrived and I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. I remember being sat on the hospital bed alone, whilst Wayne had nipped to the loo before I was taken to my delivery suite and thinking “this is IT. Now or never”. No amount of people telling you, that you can do it, that’s natural or the one thing that drives me bat shit crazy, is being told that women have being doing it for thousands of years… (I literally wring the fuckers neck who  says this to me), can prepare you for delivering your child.

I’m not going to tell you about my actual delivery as it was traumatic and we nearly lost our little darling, and although I’m happy to talk about it, I don’t wish to distress any prospective mother. I’m very lucky and I credit Wayne with getting me through it. Funny, caring and loving, Wayne knew his role in the delivery room as Team Coach. He took his role, so seriously that when we got to the pushing stage, the team of midwives laughed and told Coach to hold his horses, he could only give me the ok once they’d given him the ok!

Wayne knew how utterly terrified I was and not once did he regurgitate the usual crap everyone else was spouting. Nor did he belittle or humour me. He just listened and supported me and when you’re as petrified as I was, that’s all you need (and a lot of drugs!). This single person is what made childbirth nowhere near as bad as I thought it was going to be (apart from when at home, on tip toes trying to work through the pain and leant against our fireplace, Wayne asked what I wanted and I said to be left alone for a moment. I turned around a minute later to find him playing Champ Manager on his laptop. “What’re you doing?” I almost yelled – the only time I almost lost it with him, to face the reply of “You wanted to be left alone”. WRONG ANSWER. I wanted to be alone, but not if you catch my drift… ).

Yes, it hurts like hell, yes you feel like you’ve lost every ounce of your dignity, yes you’re frightened and you feel 5 again, but as long as you’ve someone who loves you and supports you in there with you (sprinkled with a little humour I must add), then trust me, coming from the world’s biggest scaredy cat, childbirth really won’t be as bad as you think.

It can’t be – I’m thinking of doing it all over again one day!

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