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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.

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Relationships

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…..

 

My little sister, Jolene.


It was 18th February, 1988 and I was 7 years old.

Finally YOU arrived. I’d waited since 1983 for you to arrive and I was delirious when Dad called from the hospital that cold, foggy evening and told me that finally, my dream had come true – I finally had a little, baby sister – my little sister, Joanne.

You were the sweetest little baby that anyone could wish for – beautiful, sweet natured and you barely cried. Always wanting to follow me around, you were like my little shadow! Quiet, you’d sit on the sofa, often sucking your thumb, cuddling your comfort blanket and then you’d be gone – off upstairs you’d take yourself and you’d have climbed into bed, all of your own accord.

Always thoughtful and caring, you were a little worrier from the get go. You’d say your prayers and beg that each night, Mum & Dad, and your brothers and sisters would all be ok.

In the 29 years that I’ve had the honour of calling you my my little sister, you’ve always been there for me. Together we’ve travelled to the furthest corner of the world, lazed on beautiful beaches, drank so much jager that you’ve had to be the one that’s the voice of reason, cried together during our darkest moments, walked down the aisle with me and of course, being the best baby sister ever, shoved me into your size 8 clothes when I’ve needed that extra shove!

Today my little sister, you turn 29. One more year in your 20s before you hit another amazing milestone in your life. Our life hasn’t always been easy, but you make life so much more fun and you take the best of bad and sad situations and make the best you can. Your little laughter lines around your eyes are testament to how you spend your life and whilst yes, at times, you can be a pain in the arse, you’re my little sister and I love you to the moon and back.

Happy birthday my darling little sister, Jolene xxxx

 

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.

 

 

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!

 

 

 

The best things in life are free.


Such an old cliche, “The best things in life are free” but one of the greatest (if that’s possible with cliches, of course). 

Take our little ray of sunshine, Harry. Recently he’s learnt to walk and at at the same time, his vocabulary has suddenly developed. All of a sudden, our little prince has turned into a little boy. Chasing our little dog around the house, it makes me smile hearing him shout “Ocky, Ocky” (Rocky!) in between all the shrieking and laughing radiating from him. 

Nothing warms the cockles of my heart more than hearing our son laugh and watching his face break into a smile – even the most miserable of fuckers would struggle not to laugh at my little prince. 

And Wayne. He’s perfect. If Carlsberg were to make a chap, Wayne would be their choice of carbon copy. Whilst I adore my husband to be , it’s important that we maintain our own identities and undertake activities individually; after all they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

 A recent stag do to Munich for Wayne and I swear he texted way more than he does when he’s home! Time apart was nice as I know he was busy enjoying his bro time, and equally on his return, it was delightful to have him home and be our little family again.

Love and happiness is all you need in life. Of course it’s nice to have those digits on your bank balance, but that doesn’t bring you joy. Not proper joy anyway. 

The love my husband to be and my son provide me is as strong as a diamond. They ask for nothing but love and in return they offer a life time of comedy, a lifetime of holding your sides because you’ve laughed too much and love. Love is one thing you can’t buy. I wish sometimes I could bottle the feeling I feel when I look at them both for all those sad and lonely people in the world; if only life were that easy. 

Everyday I wake with a smile; this am I woke to Harry sticking his fingers in my eyeballs and laughter as he dug that bit further and to Wayne holding my hand. Life may be shit at times, however, when you’re lucky enough to be bestowed your diamonds, you polish and look after them with pride and you look after them so fiercely, that you’d give anything for them. 

Life is good with my gems and now I can’t get that Janet Jackson song out of my head… “the best things in life are freeNow that we’ve got each other, the best things in life are free…” 

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!

Wayne. The love of my life. My Peter Pan.


Today is my boy’s birthday. Not my one year old, Harry, but my Fiance, Wayne. My very own Peter Pan.

“Happy birthday darling!” I squealed at 7.30am this morning; one hand juggling a laughing Harry, the other a birthday cake laden in candles. “I’m officially closer to 40 than 30!” came the reply. You see, the thing l love about Wayne, is that he’s a 14-year-old, stuck in a now 36-year-old body. His brother from another Mother and best bud, John, would totally agree.

And this is why I love him. Adore him actually – it’s just too hard not to.

Wayne and I met online. Hardly conventional, I know. He won me over with one simple sentence, and as they say, the rest is history and here we are nearly 4 years later, one baby,  one dog, and a wedding on the cards. Totally unpredictable – you never know what’s coming next with us – all Wayne’s doing, naturally. Friends and family wouldn’t bat an eye lid if we said we were packing up and heading to Oz next, it’s just Wayne to be honest – totally unpredictable really.

From the offset, I knew Wayne was really 14 and not 32 but that’s what makes him utterly loveable. He sees the world in a completely different light to anyone else I’ve ever met. He sees the world with an air of innocence, comparable to that of a young child; endearing in every way.

From the outside looking in, you’d think we were chalk and cheese. Wayne’s a complete extrovert; men, women and children flock to him. His infectious laughter and ability to make anyone laugh makes men want to knock back pints with him, women to be with him and kids to make them laugh that little bit more till their bellies hurt. I on the other, I’m a little more guarded, a little more suspicious of the world and a little more impatient than the everyday Joe – the total opposite to my love.

Yes, yes he has his dickish moments (who doesn’t?), but they never last very long and there’s never been a moment in the 1,367 or so days that I’ve woken up next to this legend, has he ever failed to make me laugh. There’s never a dull moment with Wayne; you can be in the absolute shittest of shittest moods, and he can always make me laugh so hard that I feel like I’m wetting myself. Even during labour, when I was experiencing the worst pain ever, he managed to make me laugh so hard that I honestly thought the baby was gonna slip out from laughing so hard!

Boobs make Wayne laugh and drawing willies in the snow on your car. It’s the simple things that make him happy, like video games and drinks with his mates. But the one thing that makes him smile, broader than the joker? Our little treasure and delight, Harry.

Aside from John, Harry is Wayne’s bestie. The two of them are thick as thieves and I know that as Harry turns from toddler to little boy, into teenager and young man, this relationship is going to go from Father and Son to absolute best of friends.

Harry adores Wayne; his little face when Wayne peeks his head around the door, following a mammoth shift at the hospital is something money  can’t simply buy and a feeling many would love to experience. Having been satisfied with my attention, Harry instantly wants his Daddy and I barely get a look in. I don’t mind though in the slightest because when Wayne and I first met, he said he wasn’t bothered about kids (and neither was I – I’d never really liked them to be honest) so to see him flinging Harry around the kitchen, laughing his little head off so hard, makes me the proudest Fiancee and Mummy ever.

In such a short space of time, I feel like I’ve witnessed the turning of Wayne from boy into man. I know this sounds like I’m throwing everything I’ve just said about him being 14 and 36 to the wind, but in the sense that I’ve seen him mature into the adult that I think a few people thought simply wasn’t possible.

Although he’s matured into a responsible young (ish) Father, he’s still managed to maintain that child like, innocent air about him. And it’s for this very fact, that I love him even more.

So here’s to a very Happy birthday to my darling Peter Pan; never lose yourself in the madness that’s the world of being an adult and in the words of J.M Barrie, “never grow up” my dear.

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