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Entries in children (2)


I Win At Having Kids (or I Could Have Been A Lemming Mother)


So here's something they don't ever fully prepare you for... the oneupmanship and overacheivingness of the other parents. Wow. It's proper full-on! And my favourite part, insidious and creepy like unchecked arse cancer.

Lemming Mothers I call 'em. All lined up. All ready to fling themselves and their offspring off the cliff if you say your kid can.

It starts EARLY. Like totes early. Like while you're still in hospital trying to come to grips with your swollen milky jugs. "How's he feeding?" she asks, smugly.

"Sitting up using utensils." you lie.

"Sleeping through the night yet?" says Lemming Mum, while she breastfeeds twins, simultaneously.

"He's barely 24 hours old..." you sputter, as you hook up the breast-pump backwards, through your tears.

But she's not listening. She's only asked to lead to her next proclamation.

"Tarquin was sleeping through at nine minutes old." She looks you right in the eye. "We're so blessed." then she changes sides with such prowess you don't even get a glimpse of her gnawed on nipples.

What can you say? "Sleeping through, already eh? Hmmm, I hear the mentally ill sleep a lot too," is what I chose.

Don't worry, they don't hear you. The nurse who's dropped a tray of tiny baby bottles did though. She gives me a thumbs up as I shoved another wilted cabbage leaf in to my nursing bra...

Lemming Mother has moved on to the next flustered bag of hormones. "Hi, how's she feeding?" It goes on. And on. And onnnnnnnnn

Admittedly, I should be used to it by now. My kids are 6 and 4 and the three FULL days of breastfeeding I did with my two are long forgotten (you never forget) mammary memories yet I still find the existence of Mother Lemming, confronting.

Most recently we encountered her when Mo bought home Boris, the Kinder Toy to spend a few nights. Boris arrived in a bag that contained a folder filled with pages documenting the visits he'd had with some of the other kids in Mo's class. What we learned from this exercise is some of Mo's classmate's mothers LOVE to scrapbook. They love it hard and they take it capital S, seriously. Four pages of the creative art of added photos, memorabilia, journaling, and embellishments. To be perfectly frank, Boris'd had the shit art directed out of him! 

 Hilarious B, to whom I am betrothed said I should just slip a blank DVD into the folders pocket to intimidate the next mother. Hilaire! Mo and I settled on a comic strip kind of thing with photos and hilarious prose. Take that, Georgia's unfunny mother with too many different kinds of pinking shears and stamps!

The competitiveness is in full force at sporting events, where you expect it. Football mothers scare the shit out of me and not just because they're toothless and drunk. The tennis coaching fathers who've taken a leaf from Damir Dokic's book and the Laurie Lawrence like enthusiasm poolside during the "just get your face wet without having a meltdown" pre swimming lesson classes is all there. But you know, you expect it there.

My girlfriend confided an hilarious story to me not so long ago about one of these Lemming Mothers in her kid's class. She'd directly asked Cindy*not her real name what level reader her Prep son was on. Cindy*her name doesn't even start with C had been subjected to almost a year of this crazy woman's incessant quest for oneupmanship so she'd refused to engage. "I have no idea?!" "But you must! You must know what level he's on!" Crazy Lady insisted. "Nope, no clue." lied Cindy*she's more a, Tori "It's on the small sticker on the back of the book!" screeched Lemming Woman. "Meh." said my friend. The next day Cindy noticed that Lemming was standing back. Soon, Lemming's child approached Cindy directly. "Hi Harry's mum, what level reader is Harry on?" "Level 14, Ethan. How are you this morning?" She tousled his hair and he ran back to his mother. All was quiet across the playground until Lemming Ma heard from Ethan. She stood upright and spat. "What bullshit, ullshit, ullshit!" she said out loud.  It echoes up here in the hills. 

It's not in the baby books. It's not on the parenting websites but you should know. Forewarned is forearmed and you can have fun with them as Cindy*Cindy IS her real name, you know :-)  and my B have suggested.

Are YOU a Lemming Mother? If not, I bet you know one.

fahey x


Penn State Rage

There has been a flurry of vitriol in the US at Penn State (Pennsylvania State University) over the sacking of Joe Paterno, the head coach of the football team.  Why was he sacked?  Well, the assistant coach, Jerry Sandusky has been raping children, in the showers of Penn State and Joe knew about it and did nothing.  The game, must go on.


When the beloved 84-year-old head coach of the Penn State Nittany Lions - the most successful team in the history of college football - was sacked for "failing to deal with" the litany of abuse perpetrated by one of his deputies, thousands of protesters took to the streets.

Yeah! Go Team!

From an AP news story, 

About 5,000 students and supporters, many in tears, on to the streets chanting "Hell no, Joe won't go!". Lamp posts and signs were torn down and a satellite truck was overturned. "The board of trustees has no loyalty," read a placard held by one protester. "We will not be quiet."


They are protesting the removal of a pedophiles enabler.

They're mad because the man who KNEW Jerry Sandusky was raping and terrorising children as young as EIGHT YEARS OLD and did nothing about it. In fact, the went out of his way to 'hush things up'.

They're over-turning trucks and lighting shit on fire because, aw shucks, ol' Coach didn't fuck them kids, he just virtually lead them to the room where they WOULD be buggered and turned a milky-blind eye on the man who had his pants around his ankles.  "See you tomorrow Coach." "See you tomorrow, Jerry Sandusky.  Don't forget to wash the blood off your dick."

Yeah! Fuck those kids! Gimme a tyre iron to biff through a window! I'm mad our team might lose now! Stupid sexy ten years olds...

I'm with that vacuous shit bag Ashton Kutcher who took to Twitter – where his 8 million followers make him the world's 10th most popular user – and threw a virtual brick through an internet shop window when he tweeted,  "How do you fire Jo Pa?"

Gosh Gee, Ashton, how do ya?  Do you use a bat?  Do you bind his ankles and bend him over while he cries? I dunno, call me old fashioned, but I'd just push the ol fuck down the front stairs and say, "the police will be coming after you any minute. You might want to get home and feed your cat."

Joe wasn't the only one. It takes a village to abuse a child.

Mike McQueary, another Penn State football assistant coach who told a grand jury that he witnessed Jerry Sandusky sexually assaulting a boy in the Penn State football building locker room shower in 2002, told his former teammates in an email that "I did the right thing.''

You sure did, Bucko. According to the grand jury presentment, McQueary left the locker room immediately after witnessing the assault.  You know, the RIGHT thing.

That'll show 'em. Oh and that was 9 years ago. Jerry seems to have been well entrenched in the university and continued to hold down his position (and many, many small defenceless children) in that time. I guess you sure did show him, Mike McQueary!

So, why all the Catholic Church like protection in such a God Fearing national university?

Penn's football programme rapes, sorry, reaps about $70 million a year. The university's 62-year-old finance chief, Gary Schultz, is another one of two officials (Athletic Director Tim Curley) charged with perjury and failure to report the allegations against Mr Sandusky despite knowing about their details. That's $70 MILLION dollars a year. Give or take some child's innocence.

Thankfully, the is right on it, asking the big questions, and I quoteth,

Will the Penn State football program recover quickly from the scandal?

Yes. The Penn State football program was dealt a pretty big blow with a sexual abuse scandal involving a former coach and the firing of one of the most respected coaches in college football, Joe Paterno.

Despite the distractions the players came out and played well even though they lost the game and most likely a trip to the Rose Bowl.


Aww, no Rose Bowl.

Awww. No air-cushions for the starting back to sit on either, to ease his troubled ass.


Jerry Sandusky may you be buggered in such violent ways you'd never even dared to believe were possible. May your new cell mates find holes in you to fuck that you never knew were there. I hope the pox they are already riddled with buries deep inside you to fill up that space where your soul should be. I hope it hurts so much you are rendered, voiceless.

And to those irascible fucktards who took to the streets to protest not the systematic abuse AND epic level cover up of these crimes but the sacking of an old man who DOES KNOW BETTER... may a gnat climb up your alimentary tract and lay cancerous babies in your throat. The words, SHAME ON YOU are wasted.

So, who's up for a quick game of touch football? Bags not having a shower, afterwards!


An Angry Red Headed Woman with Two Sons And the Inate Ability To Scream. NO! STOP IT! x


PS, I couldn't make this up, Jerry has an autobiography. It's for sale on Amazon. It's called,  TOUCHED, The Jerry Sandusky Story.  Fuck. Me.