Flowery's girl

Who the hell can resist bringing their children to see Santa Claus when you read that that the man in red is arriving nearby on the fourth of December in a helicopter? Certainly not this Mammy so after our lunch today the entire family bundled up against the cold, braved the icy, snowy roads (although probably more slushy than snowy at this stage) and made our way to our local Meadows and Byrnes store full of excitement and anticipation. Santa was due to arrive at one O'clock and so we cut it fine and pulled into the car park at exactly five to one as my children unfortunately are not blessed with the greatest amount of patience so I did not want to have to wait too long for the big show to begin. Thankfully there were a number of Elves on hand to help keep spirits buoyant. I am guessing that the Elves were sourced from the local transition year in the nearby all-girls school as every single Elf was female and none of them looked a day older than sixteen. Now call me a cynic if y

I rarely write anything terribly serious in my blogs as to be honest they are usually just something I use for a little bit of light heated escapism but this time I need to make an exception. Megan Malone is just three years old. She is beautiful, bright and fun-loving. Very recently Megan was diagnosed with a very rare type of cancer after just one week of being ill. She has multiple brain tumours and the cancer has spread to her spine. The survival rate in Ireland for this sort of cancer in Ireland is just 20%. Megan will need to travel to America in the next few weeks if she is to have any hope of recovery. Megan's Dad John was one of my neighbours growing up in Ennis and I am very lucky to consider his sister Aine one of my best friends. The entire Malone family are just nicest people you could ever hope to meet and for life to deal them such a harsh blow is just unthinkable and so unfair. I have two small children myself and the thought of either of my children suffering like

I am a huge lover of the performing arts which is no doubt due to the fact my parents who like to consider themselves ‘culture vultures’, introduced me to the theatre at a very young age. I was hooked from the very first opening curtain and when I spied an advertisement last week for Lambert Puppet Theatre’s Cinderella playing in the Strand Theatre in Carrick-On -Suir, I seized upon an opportunity to familiarize my four year old son and three year old daughter with the wonderful world of live entertainment and booked four tickets for the family immediately. I had been advised when I booked that the doors were opening at half one and the show would be starting at two o’clock sharp so we arrived at the comfortable time of quarter to two which I felt meant that we were in plenty of time for the performance but weren’t so early that the children would get bored and start asking to go home or worse – begin to dismantle the theatre seat by seat, row by row out of sheer boredom (it could

So many people thought that it was the end of MacDonald's fast food restaurants after Morgan Spurlock's documentary "Super Size me" where he spent 28 days living solely on MacDonald's food. The effect on his psychological and physical well being was so dramatic on such a negative scale that it led to the common public agreement that MacDonald's was knowingly promoting poor nutrition that was both physiologically addictive and physically harmful for its own profit. MacDonalds's responded to this documentary by discontinuing the Super Size meal and by promoting salad options in the store. Also the quality of meat and produce in their meals dramatically improved as well. I don't think that they need have bothered. Firstly, all people love what's bad for them. Cigarettes, chocolate, alcohol, a self-centred egotistical boyfriend (take comfort in the fact that you will probably grow out of this one. I did and eventually married an absolute honey but ther

I have just returned home after attending one of the best shows that I have seen in years. The date was the 16th of October; the venue was Glòr theatre in Ennis, Co. Clare and the show was called "Gospel at the movies" and it was preformed by "The Really Truly Joyful Ennis Gospel Choir". I'm going to be completely honest and say that I was a little bit dubious about attending this show as it is no secret to anyone that knows me that I am not a lover of musicals and to be caught in the vicinity of a sing-sing of any sort amounts to nothing more my idea of a hell that is impossible to escape from. To my shame I expected this performance to be somewhere between the two. The production opened with a cinema type screen at the back of the stage that showed clips of all of the members of this gospel group at rehearsals. My first thought was that it all looked a little bit cheesy and I clicked my tongue and started to tap my foot with impatience at the thought of having

I am shamefully aware of how little I have been updating this blog recently and it's not that I have nothing to update, it's just that I live in dread of offending other people who may read this and so try to keep all of the subjects that I write about as self derogatory as possible (I haven't many friends you see and don't want to piss off the few that seem to like me). Anyway, many apologies to all of you who have emailed me with a "Hello are you still there" type of message and particular thanks to my brother who emailed me a blog that was better than mine to give me tips and inspiration on how to keep going. Thanks Tony! There really isn't a whole lot of exciting things happening in my life right now but luckily I have an opinion on pretty much everything going on around me and so I will leap onto my literary soap box and indulge to my hearts content. It might be fair to point out that I have been called opinionated on more than one occasion in my life

If poos, wees and all other sort of toilet stuff make you a bit squeamish then it's probably best to just close this blog right now. I won't be offended - honest! The time has come to potty train my second child and it is a task that I just hate, hate, HATE! Seriously, if I had the money to hire one of those super nanny/Gina Forde type women to come to my house and do it for me (whilst criticizing and judging me also), I would . It is without a doubt my least favourite part of parenthood. Andrew was an absolute nightmare when it was his turn to learn to use the potty. He could manage the wees no problem from day one and was extremely proud of his undies (he flashed them to everyone who came to visit the house for a number of weeks such was his self-admiration for his big boy status) but some some bizarre reason he developed a huge fear of actually sitting on the potty/toilet and refused point blank to do his numbers twos in them. This led to him holding his poos in for up to se

I know that when anyone thinks back on their school days their mind automatically tends to drift towards those cigarettes smoked behind the bicycle sheds; mitching double maths due to never having your homework done (that could have just been me); disco dancing secondary school days and rarely do you think of your primary school days as due to your age at the time, the memories of this period in your life are probably hazy at best. Not so with me. I mean I do think of secondary school as some of the funniest and best days of my life but when I am feeling particularly nostalgic, I often think of my primary school days as some of the most innocent and good clean fun times that I have ever spent. It is possible that I am looking at these days with rose tinted glasses as this is also the 1980's time frame that I am talking about but I really don't think so. Very recently a girl who was in my class from junior infants to sixth class got in touch with me as she had started up a reun

I have continued to paint all 28 panels of my garden fence every night since the last time I blogged and I am please to report that I am now FINISHED! The sense of achievement is almost as great as the time I came third in a race and got a medal in the under 5's sprint at the local community sports day (there were only three of us in the actual race but that realisation didn't dawn on me until I was about ten years old so the jubilation that came with receiving that medal was with me for a long time). Anyway, a couple of evenings ago I was on my ladder putting the final touches to the panels at the back of the garden when a neighbour passed by on the road at the front of my house. I should probably explain that my house is on a big, giant slope which means that while I am up a ladder at the back of the garden, I have a view of the neighbourhood and the neighbourhood has a view of me. It also makes having things like having swings or a slide for the kids a bit of an impossibilit

Okay - I'm sorry, I'm sorry , I'm sorry. To all of you who have emailed me asking me for an updated blog, I apologise for the delay and I am so flattered that all three of you cared enough to look for it (three people is a bigger number than no people so a big fat raspberry to any of you who are laughing at my exaltation). The truth is that after five years of living in this house I am finally trying to get the garden into a little bit of shape and I have been out every night for the last month painting the garden fence. It has 28 panels and is such an awkward shaped fence to do which is why it is taking me so long. It has stakes in front and behind so I have to paint our side and then get my hand in through the stakes and paint the neighbours half of the fences that is facing us. If my description isn't helping then save yourself the bother of trying to decipher it and just look at the picture. It's a nightmare. I've had hubby out helping me a few times but

Oh my God! I decided to cut my hair today and wait for it.......... I am now the owner of a brand new fringe. Now I understand this may not sound like interesting news to anyone else but me but please, allow me to elaborate. It all started about about six months ago when I was having my hair done for a play that I was in. My character was supposed to be in her late forties or early fifties and so it was necessary for me to age myself up.When the hair dresser in question was putting up my hair she suddenly turned to me and said without any malice at all "Oh my God, the wrinkles on your forehead are fantastic. How the hell did you get them to look so realistic?" She was absolutely mortified when I whispered "Em, they are actually my own wrinkles, I haven't done my make-up yet". We both started at each other in horror. Ever since I cannot stop looking in the mirror and studying the depths of these lines that I had never even noticed before that day. Fast forward to