Tweeting like Amy

I'm not jealous of Amy Huberman. Honest. Despite the fact that she is younger, prettier, better dressed, more talented than me. Lovely and all as BOD is, I don't fancy her hubby either.  I wish her joy with her new baby and her lovely family.

We have a few things in common though. Amy promotes Newbridge Silverware.  I got gifts from Newbridge Silverware for my 40th birthday, which are admired, so I sort of promote it too. We both have two young children, a boy and girl. She starred in The Clinic and I watched it on TV. We are both working mothers. She had a weird surname and my first name confuses people. We both write stuff (Amy, a novelist, me, a newbie blogger and endless reports for work). We both tweet about motherhood and kids. When you think about it - we are practically Irish twins.

When Amy recently tweeted 'Having a pretty serious conversation with someone only to discover you casually have My Little Pony stickers in your hair',  the tweet received 31 replies and 332 favourites. RSVP magazine reported on it, with the headline 'Amy Huberman posts hilarious tweet'.

On October 20th, I tweeted '7 year old with serious face, clipboard and pen. 'I need e50. I'm collecting for sick children' #chancer #twinnieisms'.  Mine was retweeted by one of my 135 followers (@PerformanceCorp - thanks !! ) and then died a death. Sorry Amy, but in this one example, my tweet was more hilarious than yours.  I just can't compete with your 185.4k followers.  And as for your My Little Pony stickers - I once ran my fingers through my hair at a high powered meeting, but they got jammed in the dry baby puke that I hadn't noticed down my mane. Beat that !

In defence of my lowly stats, I'm a relatively newbie tweeter, with my first tweet on June 17th. I published my first blog on 21st April. I thought that tweeting would be a good way to promote my blog. I was curious about this Twitter craic anyway.

I'm not going to tell you how many views my blog has had to date, but I will reveal that it is now in the thousands.  Thanks to Google Analytics, I can see the views per day, on a world wide map.  I will reveal that I have had 44 views from Ukraine and 36 from Turkey no less.  It's such a buzz to see that people across the world have read your words (or perhaps, have clicked by chance on my page).

Clicking into a blog is a step too far for some people, so many people read my blogs as a very long Facebook post. Although I get plenty of comments and messages there, I have no way if knowing how many people have read these posts.  I know there are also many 'Facebook lurkers' out there - people who pimp around your page, but never make comment. I know this, because many people have admitted this to me, in a confessional sort of tone, as if they have had a pouch in my underwear drawer. (Believe me, my blog is more fun than the contents of the drawer).

I am part of the group blogging team for 'MS and Me', an initiative of MS Ireland. If the name of the blog isn't enough of a give away, all of the bloggers have MS. The blog has just celebrated it's first birthday, with an impressive 20,735 visitors. To mark the occasion, the MS Society kindly invited us bloggers to a seminar day in Dublin, to assist us with future developments. Amongst our guest presenters, we had Ciamh Mc Crory, a self proclaimed 'digital diva'. This gal is so digitally hot, she is smokin'. We got many pointers on how to behave yourself online and how to get traffic to your blog/twitter account.  According to Ciamh, it's all about 'liquid content'. For the plebs like me out there, that means creating online content so fabulous that people can't resist sharing it.

In my slightly biased opinion, some of my Twitter posts have liquid content potential and are way more shareable than hearing about a famous person standing in a lift.  But sadly, most of my tweets go nowhere fast. Yet at the same time, I get a great response to the same posts when I share them on Facebook. At this point, I'll confess that about half of my Facebook friends are related to me, so they aren't exactly impartial, but Hey ! One nice comment is worth two in the bush (or something like that).

In short, I'm finding this Twitter craic hard work. After Ciamh's pep talk, I can see that I'm not approaching it the right way at all.  It feels like I am destined for a lifetime as a follower.  If it was a school exam, teacher's comments would say 'must try harder'.  I'm finding it hard to 'get out there', to walk up to strangers on-line and just say 'howya'. I feel like a plonker if I comment on someone's tweet and they don't acknowledge me. Billy No Mates.

But this isn't an exam, MS or work related.  So why am I so bothered about my paltry number of followers ? I guess there is a certain amount of ego there.  If truth were told, I want to be shared, liked and followed, with the odd nice comment thrown in. No need to hold hands or send me kisses (but I'd never turn down Chanel No 5 ... Just sayin' ...).

I started writing to share the words and antics of my toddler twins and coined the phrase 'twinnieisms'. I got a great buzz from sharing these. My twinnies are seven now. So many of their developmental phases have been and gone already and I know that the twinnieisms won't last much longer.  From encouraging comments I have received from readers, I do have half a notion of some day publishing a book, based on the twinnieisms that I have gathered. I'm thinking that it could be a fund raiser for a charity ... Or maybe a fundraiser for me ... Charity does begin at home after all ... That's assuming it would make any money, of course.

If not, I know that my children will have some record of their very funny early years and the life that went on around them. I'm glad that I have captured so much.  Time will tell if they will thank me for it.

In the meantime, I'll keep striving to be more like Amy.

An Oscar winner, a Minister, a family funeral and a celebrity chef

I've had the most amazing week and I don't know where to begin.

My newly-wed buddy Siobhan, sans hubby, came on an unexpected overnight stay last Friday.  At one stage I thought that Siobhan would marry my boy, despite the 30 something year age gap. She was blonde and bought him sweets - My boy was smitten from the start. Alas, it was no meant to be. Leon soon got over her recent marriage, when Siobhan arrived on Friday with a kids magazine with free stuff sellotaped to the cover.   I enjoyed drinking wine with my buddy, to assist the post-wedding analysis.

On Saturday afternoon, my lovely Mammy and a clatter of day trippers from the 'Cormeen Ladies Club' landed in Newbridge Silverware. Myself and Mya stood at the doorway and greeted the gang as they arrived - one Meath accent stronger than the next. Hugs and kisses from women I hadn't seen in twenty years. I walked around the Style Museum with my Mam. It's a real treat for people with a thing for classic tailoring ... As the women left for their bus, some of them gave Mya money to buy sweets. It doesn't seem that long since the same women gave me money for sweets. I resisted holding my hand out and asking if I could have some too, in a squeaky voice.
                                                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                                                                   The women dispatched back to Meath, myself and Mya headed  on to Riverbank for the launch of the
Kildare Biennale exhibition. My college lecturer from NCAD, Gary Granville and Glen Hansard (Oscar award winning musician and actor, in case you didn't know) were guest speakers. Glen spoke about how, as a teenager, he met one of the participating artists, Philippa Bayliss, through a chance encounter with her son and ended up living in her house for a number of years. Many years later, after his acting role, he bought a painting from her that he always admired. He spoke of how Philippa had supported him to study music and how her free spirit inspired him.
His words were uplifting and he was generous with his time.

Just after the speeches, Mya wanted to go to the toilet, rather urgently, as seven year olds do. Public toilets are always a novelty for my little ones - all those foam soap dispensers and hand driers. Mya took forever ... well ... long enough for me to miss Glen Hansard singing a tune in the gallery next door ! Damn and blast and drat and words like that ...

As the launch finished, Mya noticed that Donal Skehan, the 'Kitchen Hero' TV chef was hosting a cookery event in the theatre.  She looked up at me with her big brown eyes 'can we go Mam, please ?'. 'Seriously?', sez I, secretly thinking 'that guy is an awful eejit' on the telly.  'Seriously'. Two hours later, I was a Kitchen Hero convert. Aged 28, this guy has carved out a niche for himself, is the author of a number of cookery books and had landed a role on Swedish TV (albeit with a superly dodgy accent). Fair flipping play to him. Mya was thrilled to meet Donal afterwards and loved telling him that she bakes scones and makes soup.

I tried to explain to her on the way home what a big deal it was to win an Oscar and how amazing it was for Glen Hansard, an Irish musician, to win an award out of all of the musicians in the world. She smiled at me and opened her signed Donal Skehan cookery book 'To Leon and Mya ...'

On Sunday morning, I got a text from my Mam. It was early, so I guessed that it was bad news. Martin Russell, my father's cousin had died unexpectedly.

As children, Martin and his sister came to live with my father's family when his mother died.  As a   result, Martin was a big part of my family.  I will most remember Martin for his quiet tap-tap on our back door on a Saturday night, his penchant for my Mother's apple tart, the line of silk Daffodil Day daffs on his car dash board. The beep on his Japanese import car, when he went over the speed limit, his 'no-distance-too-long' response to any request for a lift in his car. Milky Moos and Emerald sweets, wrapped in green foil (I always ate them when Martin gave me them, even though I didn't really like the coconut blend).  He was a big fan of ladies GAA and Ian Paisley. Martin was a grea man to visit the extended Russell family. As my brother Eoin said 'He brought news, but didn't carry stories'.

My mother reminded me the other day of a time when, as young children, myself and my brother Derek teased Martin about his short stature. In really bold, giddy humour, we persisted in calling Martin a dwarf. My poor mother was torn between telling us off and ignoring us - which ever mode would make us stop. All these years later, I feel guilty and hate the thought that I had caused Martin any distress, even if I was only 7. I wondered was he subjected to similar comments over the years and if so, how he felt about it.

The great, the good and the Russell's gathered for Martin's funeral on Tuesday last. I became 'John-Russell-of-Milltown's' daughter again. I met second cousins that I hadn't seen since childhood and some whom I had never met. I was struck by the strong family resemblances, with many second cousins who could pass for siblings. The distinctive Russell mouth (in every sense), the fine Daly nose that passed me by, voices that sounded similar. At one stage, I mistook my father's first cousin (John-Russell-of-Feagh)'s son for my brother. Coincidentally, both of the lads are mechanics.

I stood back in Kingscourt graveyard and watched on. I watched my parents, aunts and uncles, who have lost many from their inner circle in the last few years.  Their old routines broken. Now dusting themselves off, reinventing themselves and supporting each other. Martin won't knock on my parents back door anymore. My Mam won't fuss to make him tea again - 'I'm not making it for you Martin. I'm making it for myself. You'll have a cup ?'

Over the days of Martin's wake, I attended a meeting with Arts Officer colleagues and the newly appointed Minister for the Arts. At the Minister's request, we met in Ballyjamesduff. The only other time I had been in B'duff was 25 years ago. My father brought me to a meat factory where his cattle were being slaughtered. Although I didn't actually go in to the factory, it made such an impression on me, that I haven't eaten meat since.

Growing up on the right side of the Meath/Cavan border, I was brought up to consider Cavan as the poor relation, having little going on there, apart from having 365 lakes. All these years later, it appears that Cavan has come a long way. Or maybe it was grand all along and I just didn't know. The hotel where we stayed, the Farnham Estate was one of the nicest I've ever been to. The spa is amazing. I swam in the heated outdoor pool in the quiet darkness. As I looked out on the surrounding countryside, twinkling with lights, I felt like I was having an out of body experience - such was the range of events in the previous few days.

It's strange going back to work after a family funeral, where the world has continued on as if nothing had happened. I wanted to tell people about Martin and all the kindnesses he offered me over the years.  I've shed a wee tear when I drive - my time for thinking. I found myself selecting melancholic songs from CD's.

I was driving yesterday with my little girl. She asked me to put on 'the song ... You know ... The song ... The  one you played after Riverbank'. She meant 'Falling Slowly', the song written, composed and performed by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová and for which it won the Academy Award for Best Original Song at the 80th Academy Awards.  I had played it for her in the car, when I was giving her a lecture. I didn't think she was listening to me. 'It's a good song Mam'. 'It is Mya', I said with tears rolling down my face.

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=938XY6DX02w

Five Star Treatment

Five Star Treatment

Who doesn't love free stuff ? How about winning a two night stay in Dromoland Castle, with dinner for two people ?  All for the price of a text message to Newstalk Radio (shameless plug).  It doesn't get much better than that now, does it ? Last weekend, we headed off, with the schmancy gift voucher under our oxters, children in the back seat. Dromoland kindly allowed the two children to come along for no extra charge for accommodation (more free stuff !).

It appears that I will never learn from the past and always pack at the last minute, with two over-excited children giving me the Just-a-Minute-Quiz round of questions. Mithered I was. I packed the opposite of a capsule wardrobe for myself. I wasn't exactly sure of the dress code in Dromoland, so I packed four pairs of trousers, three dresses, sparkly shoes and an even more sparkly waistcoat, and yet packed feck all tops to wear with them. And no toothbrush for me. (I confess, I used the kids brushes - don't sound so horrified. I grew the children in my tummy, a little exchange of saliva isn't going to do us any harm).

The road trip on Friday evening was wet and dark.  It was a classic 'are we there yet, are we there yet ... ?' trip. The only way to stop the questions, was to play some annoying songs on repeat. Like the one in this link ! http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=jofNR_WkoCE

The stressful journey was soon forgotten as we drove up the meandering driveway. The children started to laugh with excitement as the lights of the sprawling castle appeared between the trees.  Dromoland do hospitality so well.  From the moment we arrived, we felt like the staff cared. They were willing us to enjoy our stay.

The bedroom, with two queen-sized didn't disappoint. The children almost needed a ladder to climb onto the beds.  There were two teddy bears on the beds, 'for us Mam ?, the little ones said in surprise. In the wardrobe, robes and - my favourite - slippers to take home !  Opening the wardrobe, the children said simultaneously, in true twinnie fashion, 'Look ! A microwave !' 'Eh, no darlings, it's a safe'.

Down to the bar for dinner. It was a busy spot. It was hard not to feel like an ethnic minority among the American visitors.

Back in the bedroom, staff had left chocolates for the grown ups and jellies for the children. They really felt like all their Christmas's had come at once.  Too disorganised to have thought about booking a babysitter, I was happy enough to have an early night, watching TV in my plush surroundings.  But the children were so excited, there was no chance of sleep. Jumping between the two beds, wrestling on the floor and generally making sure that I didn't see anything on TV.  They eventually dosed off at 11pm. Surely that means a lie in the following morning ? Surely ?

Ha ! 6.45 am call. 'Mam, can we go to the swimming pool now ?' 'Pretty please ?' Why is it always me that gets the 6.45 am call ?  The pool in Dromoland doesn't allow children until after 10am, which is fine ... Except for Leon, the boy with no patience. He could barely eat his rather magnificent pancakes in case the clock struck 10 and we hadn't noticed (even though the pancakes were served with Nutella).  The breakfast was pretty impressive, with lots of options for us vegetarians and healthy foodies.

The other grown up brought the children to the swimming pool while I had a long bath and read the complimentary copy of Social and Personal.  Okay, I didn't actually READ it, I just looked at the beautiful people at the lovely events. Of course I didn't bring hair conditioner with me - an essential if you have two gals with manes like myself and Mya, especially when the chlorine in the swimming pool dries it out. The hotel bathroom had proper conditioner. I was beside myself.  (Did I mention that I don't get out much ?).

The pool is a little walk away from the hotel reception, but there is the option of getting a golf buggy ride there. It is no surprise that Leon and Mya opted for the jaunt. Could life get any better ?

We have elderly family friends who eat their dinner in Durty Nellies, a pub beside Bunratty Castle every day.  We took a chance that we would find them there and voila, there they were.  I joked that they would be easy to assassinate as they were such creatures of habit. An American man, who had been sitting at an adjoining table, leaned over to me as he left and told me that the look on our friends faces when we landed in had made his day.

I abandoned ideas of attending anything remotely cultural in City if Culture or visiting friends and went to TK Maxx. In my defence, I was looking for a particular birthday present (that was so nice that I wanted to keep it for myself). After a painful trawl of the toy aisles for pocket money toys, I managed to pick up a TOTAL BARGAIN tailored top for myself (and totally justified, given my sparse top packing).

Back to Dromoland for dinner. The top I bought in TK Maxx had a small rip (hence the bargain price, I guess). Of course, the bedroom had a sewing kit, so I was soon zipping myself into the new purchase. Leon was a little anxious about dinner as the dining room looked quite formal, but the staff were so nice to little people that he soon forgot about that. Meals arriving under silver cloches had their eyes on sticks. The brown bread ice-cream was a highlight for myself and Mya.  I'd like a bowl of it now actually ... The castle presented huge adventuring opportunities for the children, such as a mini golf putting area and an outdoor chess set.

I made it to the leisure centre on Sunday morning. The jacuzzi was to die for and I was sorry that I hadn't given it a go on Saturday to ease my persistence back pain.  Of course, with lil uns, most of the time there was spend with the water babies. 'Look at me Mam, look at me !'

Dromoland is a great place for just lounging around, on huge sofas you could get lost in and nooks and crannies to hide in. My sister in law joined us on Sunday and we did just that. The grounds are fabulous and thankfully the weather was mild enough for a long stroll. The go carts on the tennis courts had all the little visitors very excited.

My overall impression of Dromoland was very positive. The 15% service charge which was added onto all bills seemed very steep though and put you off tipping staff personally, which I would prefer to do. Having said that though, the service was super. The staff made the children feel very important and all of their little requests were accommodated.  I came away feeling refreshed and relaxed - two words that I don't associate with me.

We stopped on the way home for something to eat in the Barack Obama Plaza. After being in the Dromoland, feel the love experience, it as surreal an experience as the name of the place suggests. Queues of people, all on the way to somewhere else,waiting for fast food in a huge, bright, shiny space. Our order took forever as the staff couldn't find me. Eh, I'm the one in the huge fluffy blue cardigan ... I'm so glad that I made an impression ...

Back to reality with a bang.

Thanks Dromoland for a fabulous weekend. It really is the little things that count ....

Mid Term Break

I'm still working on the mastery of preparing for Mid Term Break. I'll probably have it sussed just in time for the children's college graduation.  This years Hallowe'en break took me on the hop, with the Bank Holiday falling the week before Hallowe'en.  The Public Service got super value out of my pay packet in the weeks running up to the hols, with a work rate equivalent to a Duracell bunny.

As a previous blog post suggests, Dress Up Day, the day that school breaks up for the holidays, brings it's own stresses. My boy wanted to dress up as an 'army man'. A trip to the Army Supply Shop in the Curragh Camp and I was sorted. The look on his face when I produced a 'real' army jacket was priceless.

My girl wanted to dress as a 'zombie mummy'. I rubbed my hands with glee. A chance for me to get creative, or so I thought. On Dress Up morning, there was a hissy fit (hers and mine) over bandage application. Apparently I did it wrong. In the end, she went off looking like a 1980's George Michael. The only scary part of her ensemble was the look of thunder on her face.

Getting back to productive Public Servants, the Arts Service team have been SO busy all year that we managed to have our 2013 Christmas do as the Bank Holiday approached.  It was worth the wait and was a great excuse to have a grown up night out in the Big Smoke.  We even managed not to talk about work ... Most of the time ... More importantly though, 'what was said on tour stayed on tour'.

A big Bank Holiday happening for me was the wedding of my journo friend Siobhan to Mr Mc in Rathsallagh House Hotel. A quirky country house, dripping with paintings, it's the sort of place that makes you feel like you have had a hug. I was so thrilled for the funky bride, who did it her way.  Having said that, I haven't quite forgiven her for ditching Athy for Cork a few years ago, with Mr Mc hot on her heels. I used to love to see her lil blue sports car pulling up outside.

I took a mad notion that I wanted to upgrade my car a week ago. It's a lovely leather interior seven seater, with two major flaws.
1. e1,200 car tax a year and
2. Impossible to find car parts, as it is an unusual model in Ireland.
With an expensive NTC looming, I fell out of love with my heated seats and built in DVD player and thought that I like the sound of 'saloon'.

I took a chance and phoned the Credit Union to see if they would consider topping up my current loan. I half expected to hear hysterical laughter on the phone, but no, the Fruit (wo)Man from Del Monte (Kingscourt) said yes.  I adopted an American twang as I said to myself, 'well I'll be darned'.

When second hand car shopping, I would highly recommend commandeering a mechanic. In my case, my brother Robert. I was sent in first, the innocent abroad, pretending that I knew what I was talking about, before the bro rubber stamped the purchase. I'm rather pleased with my Ford Mondeo. I even manage to get an MH reg plate. Result.  I'm just not too sure where I'll put my dog, who is the the size of a small horse. I guess I can always buy a trailer, with the savings on the car tax.

All the car dealings took place in Meath/Cavan, so I got to hang out in my parents house for a few days.  At this stage, I should be pampering my Mam, but she is the one who brings me tea and homemade bread in bed,  encouraging me to lie on, while the children raid her fridge.  Still, I did plant 140 Spring bulbs in the garden for her, with a little help from the children. Something to look forward to next year.

I've long since stopped beating myself up about not visiting friends and the many, many relations when I am home.  I do my best, but sometimes I just need to hang out with me Ma.

Of course a major highlight was Hallowe'en. The children were invited to a party on Thursday, to line their stomachs with sugar for the following day. They were beside themselves with excitement ( or was that an E number rush ?)

October 31st is my children's birthday. My sweet, darling children turned a big seven this year.  I must say, I felt emotional about their birthday, so proud of all of their little achievements, but mostly just for being themselves. I something feel physical pain in my chest when I think about how much I love them.

I only felt a little bit guilty for fecking off to the Guthrie Gufa Film seminar in Cavan on the day of their birthday. In fairness, myself and the squids had spent more time together in the past week than we had in months. The conference was great and we got fed really well by Richard Corrigan, in his new hotel the Virginia Park Lodge.  I'd love to go back there again - another place where you felt like someone had given you a hug. (FYI, there was no hugging on the day - it wasn't that kind of conference).

All that and still I was home in time for Trick or Treating. Sensibly, I drank wine in a friends house, while other grown ups chaperoned the children and their friends around the houses. This year, they were thrilled to be joined by their big sister Zara and niece Sienna, all the way from Sligo.  It was very cute listening to Mya talking to Sienna about 'my big sister'. Sienna was a little put out. She told Mya that 'my Mum is only a LITTLE BIT your sister because she has a different Mum than you'.  Don't you just love kids ?

The following day, Leon and Mya and a clatter of their friends celebrated their birthday by going to a play for children in Riverbank Arts Centre.  The afternoon went great and the lil uns seemed to enjoy the play and good afterwards.  But trying to be the hostess with the mostest is tricky - trying to strike a balance between entertainment, supervising the children, while chatting to the parents (more tea anyone ?).  Worrying about paid parking, an Irish Water protest march, late arrivals, I didn't really relax until the last child went home. Phew ! That's it for another year.

Opening the presents was great fun. The children's eyes were on sticks. There was late night and early morning Lego making /arts and crafts making ... They both wanted me to help them simultaneously ... Neither having any patience.  Easier said than done, let me tell you.

By Sunday evening, the pair of them were so full of sweets and left over birthday brownies, that they practically begged me for cheese on toast and hummus and carrot sticks. It was a super Mid Term break, but we were all glad that it was almost over.

I couldn't write about Mid Term Break without mentioning the poem by Seamus Heaney. It's one of my favourites. Have a little listen to this, read by the man himself
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uF0U0pVK0bk