Oops

A voice from the loo calls out.‘ I was in your uterus, mummy.’

I continue washing up.‘You were love.’

‘I have a tiny uterus.’

We’ve had many conversations like this.‘You do love.’

‘Daddy has a..’

Knowing where she’s heading next I intervene to correct.‘No he doesn’t have a uterus, only girls have a uterus. mummy and daddy make a baby together and the baby grows in mummy’s uterus.’

‘What’s make a baby about?’

Feck. Me and my big interrupting mouth

‘Is that an elephant out the window? Right,time to wash hands.’

ssshhh

I have the flu.Everything aches. I spent the night awake alternating between shivers and sweats. Not to mention the three hours of comforting a very restless teething boobie monster.

But.....

Today himself amused the tinies all morning. I got a lie in. I’m now still in my pyjamas. I’ve written two blog posts and had breakfast all by myself. I'm not up for cooking so we’re going to eat from the freezer for dinner.

Maybe this will last until Monday....

Sad, I know....

It's not you, it's me.

I apologise for not visiting your blog or keeping up to date on your news or even acknowledging your comments.

I’ve slightly overextended myself. Two babies, one husband, lots of family and friends, two cats, 2 websites, a business start up, 3 blogs, 3 Facebook pages, 2 Twitter accounts and a daughter who feeds every forty minutes from 7 til 10 in the evening. Something had to give.

Bear with me you wonderful bloggers. I will find the time to open my reader soon and catch up with you all. I may even pour myself a wee glass of vino as I peek into your lives.

In the meantime, I’m twittering here and blogging a bit here and maybe even right here.

The Big Wuss in the Face of Adversity Award Goes to Me

Saturday morning 9:00.

The kitchen.

Tinyelf is screaming to get out of stupid jumping contraption and to go for a nap.

Crazypixie is roaring with pain, blood is pouring from her mouth, her pyjamas are soaked in blood too and there is a puddle of it staining the tile grout.

Himself is hugging crazypixie and examining the wound while trying to talk calmly to tinyelf.

I'm lying on the floor, in just a towel, overcome by the sight of so much blood.

I was going to elaborate but let’s just leave it at that.

Suffice to say it all turned out ok in the end.

Thanks to Daddy.

Not so much fun

I’m covered in hickeys!!

The purple blotches are on my arms, neck and chest.

It’s not from a passionate night with himself (sigh).

Nor is it from an illicit tryst with a stranger (eew).

Tinyelf is the culprit.

My little leech baby likes to suck. When she’s finished feeding it’s bye bye boobie and hello nearest piece of exposed mummy.

When she’s happy she sucks, when she’s tired she sucks, when she’s bored she sucks.

Maybe it’s about marking her property.

Asgard 2

I wrote this piece a year ago today. It was an attempt to type away my tears. A year on and Asgard has been left on the sea bed and we have no news of a replacement. Coiste an Asgard is still carrying out sail training but we are without a tall ship to carry our flag.


On September 11th 2008, Asgard II sank, and with her something of my youth. I’ve cried the great big heaving sobs of grief. And yet it seems ridiculous, yeah illogical to be grieving for a boat. But as the old hands would say, ‘she wasn’t just a ship, she was a lady….’

I was sixteen when I boarded the Asgard for the first of many voyages. For the next two weeks I became part of a crew, had experiences that changed me forever and fell in love with a gaff rigged brigantine…

Sailing a tall ship was magical; it was the stuff of adventure novels. We did things that pushed our boundaries just enough so that we were stronger more confident young people at the end of the voyage. We climbed up the rigging in heavy seas to reduce sail; we did it because it had to be done, and we did it under the watchful eye of the crew. Sure we were a little scared but when we had that job done and conquered that fear….well we just got on with next job…

Asgard was a relatively new vessel, but she was steeped in the tradition of the sea. The poetry of her rigging echoed the rich lives of ancient seafarers: buntlines and clew lines, braces and sheets, topsail and t’gallant. The centuries old calls of ‘all hands on deck’, ‘bracing stations’ and ‘2, 6, heave…’ became a language we understood. We thought nothing of spending time tying frayed rope to make baggy wrinkles or avoiding the widow-maker during manoeuvres before returning to the dog house for watch duties. We revelled in this new world, learning together.

It was on this vessel that many young people gained a love and respect for the sea and an appreciation of working life. Like many young people I went on board Asgard during that rough rollercoaster of my teens. Onboard everyone was part of the crew, we all worked together and we all worked hard and that was the joy of it. As well as the sailing, there was brass to be polished, toilets to be cleaned, and dinner to be cooked. Every one mucked in, and became firm friends in the process.

Ashore there was the craic, and with a boat full of teenagers, many romances. But this was no summer camp, this was real.

I always felt safe on Asgard. Even in really heavy weather she was solid; a great sea boat. The permanent crew: Captain, Mate, Bosun, Cook and Engineer, took incredibly good care of their young charges and treated us with a mixture of respect, good humour and firm boundaries that ensured life at sea was challenging, enjoyable and safe for us all.

I can’t believe she’s gone. I only hope that this isn’t the end of the wonderful tall ship training tradition in Ireland, and that one day my daughter will have a chance to experience living and working on an Irish Tall Ship.