Red Mum, The Echo column, Nov 24

JUST because it’s the first week, I have scanned in the first Red Mum column from The Echo which was published today and is on sale in a shop near you, well if you live in south Dublin (or in Easons in Dublin city centre).



I’ll normally wait until the following Monday before including it on this site in the future. And I will include it every week as some of you may be interested to read it as well as being a handy online archive for me.

You can click on the article which will bring you to Flickr where you can view it in a larger size and I will also post the piece below.

Anyway I will be treating myself tonight after work, I think a foot pampering session, a long hot shower and a bottle of wine is well in order.

Oh and if anyone has any ideas for future columns, feel free to let me know. My email is on the side bar on the left hand side.



The First Three Months Are The Hardest!

JUST after I had my daughter some bright spark fella told me that the first three months of your baby’s life are the hardest! PAH what a bloody joke.

As many parents will be aware this absurd and ridiculous statement could only be the opinion of someone who hasn’t a baldy notion.

Let me put you straight, the first three months are a dawdle, an absolute dream.

Your new baby smells wonderful, mostly; and only needs fed, changed and loved to be happy. Course there is the sleep depravation but I would take that any day over an insolent, moody and quietly defiant teenager.

No the first 13 or so years are the definitely the easiest. Then they become a monster, an absolute teenage monster. And any parent who tells you otherwise is definitely luckier than they could ever realise, seriously deluded or are lying through gritted teeth.

Having spent the first 12 years patting myself on the back for a job well done, little did I know what was in store for me.

It wasn't enough to go to college with when the young wan was a toddler, no mean feat, or pay for a two-bedroom apartment in Dublin out of my wages, defo no mean feat, and rear the young wan completely on my own, oh no, now it is blood, sweat and tears they want.

The thought of another couple of years dealing with a stroppy teenager absolutely withers me. I can feel myself aging as each day passes, I’m only 34 and feel 50!

In our household, there has been the ongoing saga of The Untidy Room, and I use the term untidy very loosely indeed. The Untidy Room will no doubt be regularly featured here as regularly as it is featured at home.

However I could not believe my eyes when I went into it this morning; at best it is a filthy hovel; at worst, well words fail me.

I should probably threaten her with publishing pictures of it identifying her. But I don’t think she would even worry let alone do something to change it.

After all it is herself who has allowed the room to get into this state and I know she would bring pals into the hole that was formerly her room with no thought or concern of what they would think.

Teenagers have no shame.

The fact is that I did her room recently, leaving her only a few things to sort out and since then these little things have not been done so The Untidy Room has remained unfinished.

I’ve had all sorts of advice from all sorts of corners on what to do, one gem being ‘close the room door, what you can’t see…’.

Aside from the fact that my flat is the flat that Jack built and the door doesn’t close properly. So it can swing open at anytime and often the first thing you are confronted with when you come into our flat is The Untidy Room.

Closing the door just isn’t a real option or indeed a solution. Because it is a small flat it feels like the mess from the young wan’s room pervades like a bad smell throughout the flat.

I know what’ll sort it out, where are those matches?

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