Short and Sometimes Sweet

So here it is, Merry Christmas everybody's having fun. Except they're not. They're running around like headless chickens (or turkeys) buying crap they neither want or need, getting into debt that they'll be paying off for forever and a day. Oh yea, great laugh. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas. Eating and drinking and getting nice pressies are on my list of favourite things. But it's not a "Let's get the tree up in November" kind of love. When my family were younger we used to start gathering Santa things from September onwards. And I've queued up for their latest must haves on many an occasion. But seriously people, is it necessary to be hysterically obsessed by one feast day of the year? When I was younger Christmas was a big deal in our house. Any time we were 'bold' we were told 'Santa is watching'. Something that freaked me out completely. I mean, He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows if you're awake. N

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, DASHER! no

Not having a good day today. I can't survive without sleep and I've not had too much of that lately. So yea, my boring moany side comes out. I often get that voice inside my head (that sounds strangely like my mother's) telling me how lucky I am and how grateful I should feel, but when I'm tired and stressed I don't feel grateful at all. I learned a long time ago that it's ok to feel like this and it will pass, but sometimes I need a little help. So a chat to family and friends is good and a bit of banter helps. But I am always reminded of a special lady who helped me through so much. She had the same name as my mam but that's where the similarities ended. On one of our first meetings she gave me an excerpt from a very interesting book she was reading. I thought I would share it. "You are an artist at life and whatever you're making of it is the masterpiece you are working on. Once you begin to think from your genuine centre Once you begin to

Hello again. I promised myself I would try to write at least one blog a month, so here goes. It's been a very odd couple of weeks for me. My mood has been all over the place. As many people know, towards the end of the summer my eldest son moved to Spain for a year. Now we wouldn't have the usual mother/son relationship. We are great friends. But don't tell him I said that because I've always denied it, saying instead that I'm his mother and he should remember that! We also do this kind of psychic thing. He always knows what I'm thinking and how I'm feeling and vice versa. It has been proven this week that distance makes no difference! So I've been missing him a lot, and our chats, and our bitchin, and our alcohol fueled laughs. One of which lead to me literally breaking my ass in two places. Oooh the pain! As well as missing my boy, my daughter had a birthday. A special one. And she started work. So in the space of what seems like 24 hours I've g

Wow! What a very busy and stressful couple of months I've had. I've been neglecting my blog so I think it's time I rectified that. Stress is a weird old thing, isn't it? I mean, it's something that we all do at some point isn't it? We all worry. Whether it's money, health, or other problems it happens to the best of us. We may blame others for it but ultimately we are responsible. When I get stressed a couple of things happen to me. The most frightening being panic attacks. To be completely panicked from toe to head, shaking uncontrollably, pains in my chest has to be one of the scariest things I've experienced. And believe me, I've experienced many! The thing that effects me the most though is Alopecia. Everyone who knows me recognises me by my hair. I even got recognised in the states one year because of it. After my treatment it fell out. In lumps. I was devastated. I spoke to my friend who is a hairdresser. We could have gone one of two ways. E

So it is that time of the year again, when all talk turns to going back to school. All over the world students of all ages have started back or are about to start back to school/college/uni. Indeed my twitter time line has been full of angst from students about how awful it is to be going back. I remember it well. Money was non-existant in our house when I was younger, so my mam always bought VALUE FOR MONEY uniforms. This meant ill fitting new uniforms that were two sizes too big, or hand me downs. Not good when you are an only girl with three brothers.I remember everything being scratchy, and my shoes cutting my feet! I survived however. Then time passed as is it's wont until I had children of my own going to school: And yes, I fell into the value for money trap. I did try to make sure they got what they wanted, as opposed to what they needed but old habits die hard. I used to dread all the fuss made about books, copies, pencils and the like. During this time I decided to go

I haven't done one of these for ages. Time gets away from me and before I know it another week is over. I have decided to write this blog about time: or rather a time Lord. The last of the time Lords. The Doctor If you were to ask me about my childhood memories I would of course have the usual ones about playing outside, the nursery rhymes etc. But many of you, of a certain age, will also have the' hiding behind the sofa on a saturday night memories'. It was the ritual in our house that one by one on a Saturday evening off we would go to have our bath. While we were in the bath, my mam would be downstairs cooking a fry up. Until one by one all four of us were sitting ensconced in fornt of the tv, fry up on our laps and the opening credits would roll. The sharp intake of breath as the music started. The silence (pun intended) fell upon the room. It was Dr Who time.                                                Most people have their favourite Doctor. It's probably

I haven't done one of these in a while..... life gets busy, time gets short etc etc. Today I'm feeling quite reflective, and I'm on my holidays from work so time is not so short. So what to write about? Well I was going to write about something different, but recent events dictate otherwise.                          Yesterday my father came to see me as he always does on Sundays. He brought some old photos. It seems as we grow older, and memories fade, photos become ever more important. Anyway, among the pictures of my children when they were younger, there were two of me. I usually like these photos but not yesterdays. You see, in the two photos I saw a stranger. Someone that I used to know. A tiny terrified face. Pale and gaunt and very ill. Apart from the fact that I looked about 12 years old, A sister to my two boys rather than their mum, it made me realise how ill I actually was. And also how I have never, until now, fully accepted and understood what I went through.

I'm Not Short, I'm Fun Sized Some of the trending topics on twitter make me shake my head. Like yesterday, tweet my height was trending. I mean, why? Why does the twitterverse need to know that I'm only 4'11''. Yes people, I am under 5ft tall. Then I thought well why not? I used to have a thing about being short. Not any more though.                                                                    In my house, everyone is taller than me. It's not fun. I am constantly being reminded of the fact that I am over a foot shorter than most of the residents. Even my 15 yr old daughter, who I used to call mini me (for obvious reasons) is taller than me. Now I like to think I hide it well. Heels are a life saver. But when you get caught jumping because it's the only way to get the item you need from a high shelf you leave yourself open to having the mick taken. It's the ....ahem ...little things that annoy me. Getting onto bar stools is a nightmare. then

This week has been a sad week for me. My sister-in-law passed away suddenly last Friday morning. She was 48 years old. It was a very big shock to our family.  Anne When I was 15 or so my brother came home from work and said he was being let go. I have three brothers, two older and one younger. I don't have the eldest in my life at the moment but I am very close to the other two. Derek is the youngest, me next, then Tony. (who's name is actually Peter, yea IDK either!). So Tony left Ireland and moved to Greenwich. He got a job in a pub called "Hardys", owned by a couple from Sligo called Peter and Angela. Sometimes Angela's sister worked there too. Her name was Anne.We would go there on holidays every few months to visit. Anne was always the lovely bubbly blonde girl who had a sunshine smile for everyone. Anne and Tony became good friends. Anne met and married Vince and later on she had a little boy and called him Ryan.Peter and Angela were very very good to my

I am usually an easy going kind of person, and there's not a whole lot that gets on my nerves to be honest. As I have said before I love football and rugby and it was a weekend for both this weekend. And as a result a couple of my pet peeves came to the fore.                            Like for example on Saturday evening when my favourite rugby club Leinster were playing. I decided to go to the pub for the second half. Now I generally don't go the pub to watch either football or rugby. I prefer to stay at home and shout at the tv, but I was invited out and sure it would have been rude not to. Why does everyone turn into an expert? Leinster have been doing very well this season, and suddenly everyone is wearing Leinster jerseys. Those that wore Munster tops last season seem to have morphed into those that wear Leinster tops this season. The game wasn't the best for a number of reasons, the Heineken Cup Final next week being one of them. When fair weather fans sit there and

I have always thought of myself as a bit of a contradiction. Growing up, I thought I was a tom boy. I was definitely into football and rugby and all kinds of so called "male" dominated sports: But then, I liked make up, and looking pretty. Not pinky pretty, you understand. I hated pink. My mother was so delighted at having me after two boys that everything was girly pinky crap. Dolls and prams and other such girl toys were bought. I gave them all away. When I was just 4 years old my baby brother was born. My mum had miscarried twins, so the excitement was huge. I immediately took over and became surrogate mum. Why play with dolls and prams when you could have the real thing, eh?                                                        So time passed and my brother grew. I had a passing interest in football at this point. We used to go to Manchester every summer for our hols, and as my relatives lived right beside Old Trafford we were given the tour every time. I was unimpresse

One of my favourite poems of all time.. Invictus O UT  of the night that covers me,     Black as the Pit from pole to pole,   I thank whatever gods may be     For my unconquerable soul.      In the fell clutch of circumstance          5   I have not winced nor cried aloud.   Under the bludgeonings of chance     My head is bloody, but unbowed.      Beyond this place of wrath and tears     Looms but the Horror of the shade,   10 And yet the menace of the years     Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.      It matters not how strait the gate,     How charged with punishments the scroll,   I am the master of my fate:   15   I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley . 1849–1903

...I went to see my doctor. He suggested more pills. I suggested he shove said pills up his arse. I changed doctors; a decision that changed my life. After many attempts I finally actually told my new doctor everything. Absolutely everything. He listened. He actually listened. I FELT HEARD. For the first time in my life, someone heard what I was saying. He suggested I see someone. A friend of his. A very nice lady, who I could talk to if I like. And yes, some pills. Not zombie inducing pills, pills to help turn my head off. WHAT? After 26 years someone was actually going to help me. I cried. I cried with relief, joy, I cried for the child in me that was no longer being ignored by medical professionals. I went to see this nice lady. It took me 4 months to build up the courage, because I knew it would be difficult. If ever there was an angel sent here to look after me, she was it. A quiet, older lady with twin sets and pearls. A gentle soul, who listened at the right times, spoke at the

....My head hurt so much...I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. I wanted the pain to stop. I told the doctors this. What did they do? They gave me more drugs.This amazed me. I kept trying to tell people about the incessant busyness in my head, but all they wanted to do was fob me off with more drugs. My family were very good. my mam looked after the boys and me. My poor husband kept his job going while in the evenings he looked after me. I felt like a complete zombie. Time passed, and I did start to feel better. All the time I was trying to get off these stupid pills they had me on. I started to get into a routine, and for a while felt ok. Not great, just ok. I did what I had to do to get through the day.I even did housework and baby minding. I hated it, but not as much as I hated working in Tesco. Then one morning I woke up with a face the size of a balloon. Seriously infected cystic acne they called it. I again had to take all manner of pills and potions. None worked. Walking aro

Because it is depression awareness week, I thought I would write a bit about my own experience of depression. When I was a young child, I was always thought of as "the quiet one". I am an only girl with three brothers. They seemed to make enough noise and bluster without needing any help from me. My father too is a larger than life character, what he lacks in height he makes up for in personality! So I used to just keep to myself, and let them get on with it. I never saw the value in small talk. I always knew that when I had something to say,people would know all about it. So I lived up to that label. As I grew older I became detached from the rest of the family, preferring again to stay in the background. We weren't very well off, and of course there were arguments about money. I stayed out of it for the most part. Soon my label became "the deep one". As in, "ah you know Sharon, she's the deep one." All I know is, although I may have been quiet an

So, many people will know by now that I'm not your usual run of the mill person. My philosophy has always been "Why try to be like everyone else when I can be me?" I may have lost my way sometimes due to the various crap that life throws up but I always find my way back. I have two wonderful sons (I can say that now) and a beautiful daughter. I'm quite proud of them, I must say. and I'm quite proud of myself for getting this far without being arrested for murder... Many of my posts on here are serious, and indeed I have been through some serious stuff, but I wanted to write about something funny for a change. I was reminded by my eldest son recently about various incidents that happened when he was in primary school. Jamie was walking at 9 months, diagnosed with ADHD at 12 months and a heart breaker from day one. He was given "Gifted" status as a toddler. Always a difficult thing to keep a child like that out of trouble. One has to think outside the box

Being a parent is the hardest job in the universe, and don't let anyone tell you any different. From the day your children are born the enormity of the job hits you. And it's for life. From the practical issues like feeding, changing etc to providing for them to the disappearance of a proper sleep pattern and everything in between, it's 24/7 for the rest of your life. It can also be some of the most rewarding fun times one can have with their clothes on! I always wanted an enormous family. Due to ill health and other complications that didn't happen. Three was the most we could manage, and even then two were against medical advice. So I put my energy into looking after and educating other people's children. I worked, went to college and reared my family in the best way I knew how. I had lots of help of course, my other half being there to take up the flak and my parents helped too.                                               Everyone has their own kind of parenti

So I have been thinking quite a bit lately about censorship.There has been lots said about the recent jailing of a guy for making comments on twitter about the unfortunate incident with Fabrice Muamba. Well, nobody seems to know exactly what he was jailed for as in the actual charge, but anyway he was jailed. then there was public debate because a woman wrote an article about how being beautiful wasn't all that etc. So it started me thinking, and then I got my very own personal troll. Now, I'm always very careful to point out to people that my opinions are just that. Mine, and an opinion. They might be, (ahem loosely) based on fact or experience, but they're not Gospel. and I don't mind too much if people don't agree. Good healthy debate is enjoyable. I post lots of opinions on twitter and I also read lots of other people's too.I opened a twitter account because I was recuperating after a serious op and got bored. I got chatting to lots of nice people, most of

Dear Mam,                   I think about you every minute of every day of my life. Especially at this time of the year, the start of what was the longest few weeks of my life. I was the only one who got to say goodbye to you. That will stay with me. I want to thank you for everything you did for me, and my family. We didn't always see eye to eye, but you gave me good foundations to build on. You instilled in me a strength and love that I will always have. You showed me how to be a good mother. And you were the best Mother and Nana anyone could have wished for. So instead of (or maybe as well as) feeling miserable on your anniversary I am going to raise a glass in your honour and celebrate your life. You should know that I am proud to have had you as my Mam, and I will continue to make you proud to have me as your daughter. Sleep well, God Bless.x Believe me if all those Endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly today Were to change by tomorrow And fleet in my arms,

Is  cailín   bródúil   as   Éirinn mé, A proud Irish girl but sometimes my government makes me want to bang my head off a brick wall. These last few weeks have been just like that.                        I have my own little pre-school. It's small and can be very stressful but I have been there for 16 years so I must like it. We are host projects for a few different schemes. As such we sponsor community employment candidates. They come and work and learn in our school and the government pay them. A couple of weeks ago one of my CE staff was sacked from the programme. Her crime? She moved her boyfriend into her home because they are getting married soon. Because she is no longer classed as a single parent, and because she was honest about it she no longer "FITS THE CRITERIA". So this person was given two weeks notice, her money for those two weeks was cut by €90 and she was put onto the dole.This woman is devastated. She wants to hold on to her job, but can't. Her job

This is a simple poem, yet one of my favourites. Enjoy!   In France The poplars in the fields of France Are golden ladies come to dance; But yet to see them there is none But I and the September sun. The girl who in their shadow sits Can only see the sock she knits; Her dog is watching all the day That not a cow shall go astray. The leisurely contented cows Can only see the earth they browse; Their piebald bodies through the grass With busy, munching noses pass. Alone the sun and I behold Processions crowned with shining gold -- The poplars in the fields of France, Like glorious ladies come to dance. Barry Cornwall

I sometimes get annoyed when parents come to collect their children and remark about them having paint or something on their clothes! In my humble opinion, young children should be dressed comfortably and practically rather than fashionably! My annoyance comes from the fact that I believe in MESSY PLAY!                                        I have spoken before in my blogs about my battle with depression. Some days I live with it, others it lives with me. Part of my battle includes the famous OCD.Yes, I am that soldier. When my children were a lot younger they would be seen in public only if their clothes, hair, toys etc were scrubbed until they shone. Our house was a shrine to cleanliness and anti bacterial products. There were no ornaments, instead we went for the "minimal" look! Lots of therapy later, and here I am advocating getting messy! When I was in college many years ago our tutor brought out lots of flour, oil, salt and water and told us to make playdough...WITHOU

Have you ever learned anything by rote and was able to say it word for word in front of a teacher and then sat down and wondered why? I've never understood why teachers encourage this kind of "Learning" because it's my experience that very little learning actually takes place. Sometimes children come into my school and all the parents care about is that they can say their numbers, or they know their colours when they've actually never learned what it feels like to say, jump in a puddle, or run barefoot in the grass?                                                       I am a great believer in what I call "Experiential Learning". It's kinda like when someone shows you how to do something, but it's only in actually doing it you really know how. We're all individuals, with different levels of intelligence (In my case it depends on the day, time etc) so how come in school we're all taught the same way, at the same pace? In 1983 a theorist c

Sometimes at this time of the year, we miss those who are no longer with us. I have been quite upset, as we had another Christmas/New Year without my Mam. We didn't always get on. We weren't always best friends. We worked through our issues, and I'm glad to say that we couldn't have been closer in the end. Anyway I found comfort from my friends and family. And in various poems and prose. I thought I'd share this one. “You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived. You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all she's left. Your heart can be empty because you can't see her, or you can be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You can remember her only that she is gone, or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn