Who needs hamsters, we have Hexbugs!

There’s not many things my kids can play with nicely together. They will fight over crayons and tiny little super hero figures and get very worked up indeed over the ownership of particular Lego bricks.

Dominic got a Hexbug set for his birthday, a wee one which nonetheless entertained them both, sometimes together but mostly separately. One single buzzy little Hexbug was not cutting it. I had to get the set out for Ted when big bro was in school and sneak it back up on a high shelf before he got home.

I posted this tweet and resigned myself to heading to the toy shop for some additional bugs; resigned because I have a pathological fear of “spoiling” my kids. If it’s not a birthday or Christmas or you don’t deserve a little something then there’s no new stuff coming your way “just because”.

Then, the Hexbug mothership decided they couldn’t stand to see a forlorn toddler and a large box of panels, pipes and FOUR new Hexbugs arrived five days later. The elder treated it like a YouTube toy reveal video, listing all the pieces as he pulled them out of the box (he is obsessed with this one kid who builds Lego kits).

They built an “upstairs” and tubes that go nowhere until reluctantly, bedtime arrived. By this time Dominic had deduced their name comes from the hexagonal panels (see: educational too!) So, I wonder are they spoiled now? Well, we’ll see if they give postman an earful the next time he arrives with just boring bills.

But for now, from us to you, thank you Hexbug!

We received these courtesy of X. They didn’t request a review but I want to share the love anyway. All opinions are our own. The boys’ opinions amount to: “COOOOOL!”



Because I Needed Another Challenge. A Trip To The Library.


I convinced my children to come to the library this week – they love reading/being read to but they also love running around shouting so we don’t go as often as I’d like. They have the ability to reign it in slightly and briefly on arrival in the local library’s Junior section so off we went. Once again I had the misguided notion that I might pick up a couple of books for myself. These usually come from the closest shelf to the Librarian’s desk, grabbed by me in between the librarian stamping the myriad of kids selections, me reaching for my random reading material while stuffing umpteen books about underpants* in my bag while corralling the toddler with my left leg.  The Dublin City Library catalogue is vast, but yes, I have to pick from the twelve books within my reach on any given visit.**

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Now We Are Two And Three Quarters

With Mother’s Day coming up on Sunday,  I thought it was time to paint a little picture of the second of my major achievements in motherhood. After all, Boy Number One gets plenty of airtime. So, the younger, he’s two and three quarters and it’s everything you’d expect from the terrible twos.  Terribly loud, terribly emotional, terribly cute, terribly funny.


Selfie With A Black Eye And A Split Lip

Resilience is Ted’s middle name. As a second child vying for attention he might be a tad dramatic, but that same familial position does bestow upon him a lot of thumps. He roars and screeches, and knows well how to say “Dominic do it” when the accused was clearly in another room at the time of the incident. It must be said though, that mostly, Dominic did do it. Also, Ted gives as good as he gets.

Clingy is his other middle name. He loves me to hold him close. He loves not to walk and to be carried. He dislikes walking up or down the stairs yelling “Hold me UP! Hold me UP!” no matter which direction he wants to be brought in. I tried a toddler carrier which he tried to fling himself out of kamikaze style. No handy back-carry for me; no, he wants to be locked on my hip or my front blocking my view and preferably while I’m trying to get somewhere fast.

He loves to rock out, enjoying nothing more than giving nursery rhymes a sort of spoken-word-metal hybrid treatment, as above. He bashes his drum kit and his ukelele. He sings constantly, on the Luas and in the supermarket. And I could listen to his warbling all day.


He refuses to show any interest in potty training. There have been tantrums over bin-bound stinkers which he would prefer back on his bum. He lies about when he’s done a poo despite the cat slinking out of the room in disgust and nearby flowers wilting.

Delaying tactics are his forte. Running late for school pick up? Ten minutes to accept the fact of wearing shoes, then it’s time to insist on climbing in the front of the car and putting on some music before getting into his own seat. Everything on his own terms.

He’s got marvellous hair. It’s thick and shiny and I’m loathe to cut it beyond keeping it out of his eyes but suncream season approaches and I nearly always give in to practicality then. Unlike his older brother, he won’t let me play with it and tie it up in bunches. The meanie. He does love to brush my hair and if I’m good, he lets me brush his. Santa put a small hairbrush in his stocking for this reason.


This Took Most Of A Day.

He loves to “help” around the house; getting an egg from the fridge for his lunch – splat; getting his own snacks generally because I would give him one yogurt where he takes two. He likes to sweep neat piles of dirt all around the floor while I have gone to fetch the dustpan. His version of helping in the garden is the excuse I’m using for my pathetic attempts of GIY thus far…

I forgive him all of it.


Mother’s Day. Where I Don’t Ask For Much Really.

I’m not talking about pampering spa days and drowning in bouquets of flowers. I’m not talking about jewellery and lunches in establishments with white linen tablecloths.* With Mother’s Day coming up next weekend, this is how I’d like my ideal day to go: Continue reading

14 Reasons To Hate My Bathroom (The Ice Box Of Doom)

<a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">(license)</a>

One can dream.

IMAGINARY INTERVIEWER: Don’t hold back now, tell us: what exactly is wrong with it?

ME: Well now you ask, it’s a lean-to extension of nightmares. A breeze-block built flat-roof topped testament to shit building work everywhere. Wait. I’ll put it in list form. It’ll be easier for all of us.

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The Wind Is Howling. Eat Up.


Horizontal sleet means two things in my book. Light the fire and have comfort food. Lilly Higgins has a great ‘Give Me Five’ series in the Irish Times – recipes with just five ingredients – and because I love her attitude to food I always look it up.

It’s usually not veggie but last weeks was, and coincidentally, I had put it on the meal planner for today.  I mean, I’d only filled in Monday and Wednesday so that’s not really much of a plan, but look, it’s a start.

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