Rules of school September 2, 2011

Those of you who follow me on twitter may have been part of ‘The Great Earring Debate’ during the summer. This involved my fourteen year old son and his desire to have his ear pierced.

My initial reaction to his request was ‘eeeeeek!’ How had I reached that stage already? How was it that the boy who’s highlight of the week was getting a gold star in school and a lollipop on Fridays had turned into a teenager with a mind of his own?

So Twitter had plenty to say on the subject. The opinion swayed largely in favour of letting him have his ear pierced. The general consensus was that a pierced ear was minor on the scale of what a teenager might ask for (gulp!). On discussing with my husband, we agreed that it’s important to choose our battles with a teenager so we’d let him have the earring.

I had visions of him going to a dark, seedy joint, owned by a seven foot man with a plaited goatee, a tattoo covered body and ear-lobes stretched to his feet. I’m sure he’d be a very nice man, but I wouldn’t want my fourteen year old getting any ideas beyond one itsy bitsy pierced ear. So I took him myself to a ‘nice’ shop and he got the job done – one little diamond stud which, I have to admit, looked quite nice.

So onto the next part of the debate. I have two teenagers in the same secondary school, a thirteen year old girl and the fourteen year old earring boy! Last year, the school rules stated that a girl could wear a small pair of studs but if a boy had an earring, he must cover with a plaster. I wasn’t at all sure how I felt about that. Surely the same small, neat stud should be acceptable on a boy as well as a girl. But rules are rules so I sent him off to school on Wednesday with his plaster-covered lobe. However, they’d changed the rules and now boys are not allowed to wear an earring at all in the classroom. My son was forced to take his out, even though he’s just had it in for a few weeks (for those of you who haven’t ventured into pierced territory, a piercing shouldn’t be taken out for six weeks to avoid infection!).

I know it’s more widely acceptable for girls to wear earrings but surely a simple stud in a boy’s ear should be allowed too. Or maybe you feel that it’s not natural for a boy to wear jewellery. I’ll be interested to hear your opinions.

Maria x

Oh happy days! July 24, 2011

Well hello there! Remember me? I’m the girl who used to actually write stuff on here. Unfortunately, I seem to have thrown too many balls up into the air and something had to give.

I was going to write a post today about what’s been happening for me – about the exciting year I’ve had and why I’ve neglected this blog amongst other things. But the sun is shining (yes, honestly!) and the happy sound of kids in the back garden reminded me of a poem I wrote. So today I’ll give you a poem – over the next few weeks, I’ll regale you with tales of my exciting year so far… wait… come back… I’ll try to keep it short… and I said I’d do it another day…!

I’m very aware of two things you’ll be thinking when you read this:

1. I sound like my mother. Now I know most of you don’t know her, but she’s the quintessential Irish Mammy.
2. I must be a lot older than my thirty… ahem… something years.

I’m also aware that my kids will roll their eyes when they read it. They’ll shake their heads at my antiquated view on life and go back to their X-Box/Play Station/Wii! But maybe some of you will read it and remember those delicious summer days when the world was such an exciting place and the most important thing in the world to us was getting caught by a boy (or girl) during kiss-chasing!

“Get on with it!” I hear you cry. So here it is – enjoy.

Oh happy days!

My memories of childhood warm
the cockles of my heart.
Those lazy ways and hazy days
when Summer sun would start.

From morn to night we’d play outside,
old games like Blind Man’s Buff.
We’d always peek for Hide ‘n’ Seek;
our play was often rough.

We’d eat our lunch with mucky hands;
it mattered not a bit.
We’d graze our knees from climbing trees.
It wouldn’t make us quit.

We didn’t need computer games
to occupy our minds.
A thousand ways to fill our days
were of the simple kind.

We’d chalk out squares for Hopscotch games
with shrieks of sheer delight.
For hours we’d run, all burnt from sun,
’till starlight signalled night.

At eight or nine our Mams would call
to get us in for bed.
We’d then implore for minutes more
to end our game instead.

We’d eat our supper fighting sleep
from energy we’d spent.
And down we’d sit for ‘lick and spit’
to bed we’d all be sent.

Then Mam would come into our room
and tell us tales of yore.
Then come the dawn, with stretch and yawn,
the fun would start once more!

*******

Fairies on the booze! May 8, 2011

As most of you know, I write books and stuff, mainly aimed at adults. But do you know about my secret passion? Would it surprise you if I said it’s fairies?? Now by that, I mean the ‘fly around fairland in sparkly wings’ type fairies! I love writing poems for children about magical worlds with happy ever afters. However, it occurred to me to sneak a little of this fairy world into my adult writing. So just for all you big kids out there, here’s a… let’s just say… ‘more grown up’ fairy poem. Hope it makes you smile on this rainy Sunday!

Fairies on the booze!
A fed-up fairy Fifi went
to see the fairy ruler.
She asked Queen Esmeralda if
she’d make the kingdom cooler.

“Whatever do you mean, my child?”
enquired the Fairy Queen.
“This place is full of brilliant things
The coolest ever seen.”

“The magic swings between the trees
where elves sit softly swaying,
the fluffy clouds make trampolines
where everyone loves playing.”

“The brightly coloured rainbows make
amazing vibrant slides.
And spotted little toadstools are
the greatest place to hide.”

“And as for fairy fashion, we
all wear the very best;
with haute couture of sparkles you
should never be depressed.”

But Fifi wasn’t happy ‘cos
she hated all these things.
She longed for some designer stuff;
not stupid fairy wings.

Next morning when she woke and went
outside to take a walk,
she rubbed her disbelieving eyes
and had to stop and gawk.

For Fairyland was now transformed
and now was cool and funky.
The fairies looked like models and
the elves were fine and hunky.

Young Fifi was excited by
the changes that she saw.
She clapped her hands in sheer delight
and looked around in awe.

Instead of birds tweet tweeting, there
were booming disco beats.
Replacing fields of daisies were
some modern concrete streets.

She saw her friend, Miranda, who
liked dancing with bare toes.
She now was wearing killer heels
and chic designer clothes.

Her face was caked with makeup,
scarlet colour on her lips;
she didn’t dance, just swaggered
with a sashay of her hips.

She waved at Wizard Wally who
was always very cheerful.
To her dismay, he just looked lost;
his eyes looked sad and tearful.

Just then a leprechaun zoomed past
in brightest red Mercedes,
with open roof, and music loud
attracting lots of ladies.

A group of fairies passed her by
and Fifi was amazed.
With empty beer cans in their hands,
they all looked pretty dazed.

A drunken fairy? My oh my!
It really was alarming.
It seemed it was a better life
when everything was charming.

She really now regretted that
her selfish wish was granted,
and prayed she’d wake tomorrow back
in Fairyland enchanted.

When morning came, she ran outside
and danced around with glee,
as fairies flew and sprinkled dust;
oh what a sight to see!

The toadstools and the fluffy clouds,
the rainbow coloured slides.
She marvelled at the precious things
that Fairland provides.

But while she danced on tippy toes,
just guess what Fifi found;
a shoe with heels six inches high
was stuck into the ground.

She laughed out loud and realised
that if she had to choose,
she’d rather see those fluffy clouds,
than fairies on the booze!

Maria xx

The Lost Boys April 25, 2011

Yesterday was a day of ups and downs, laughter and tears… and me screaming like a frenzied fishwife on top of a hill! But more about that later.

Since I was a little girl, Easter has always been my favourite time of the year. I love everything about it – daffodils and tulips, chocolate eggs, new lambs in the fields, chocolate eggs, sunshine, sunburn, chocolate eggs, lazy days… and did I mention chocolate? Having four children of my own now, the Easter Bunny is always very generous in our house. So just like every Easter Sunday morning, we all crept downstairs to see what he’d brought. The following twenty minutes saw the children darting about the house, finding the chocolate surprises hidden by the aforementioned bunny!

So after we all ate our body weight in chocolate, we felt the need to go and get some fresh air. We arrived half an hour later in Bray, a lovely seaside town with a great holiday atmosphere. At this point, my lovely but sometimes too energetic husband announced that we should climb Bray Head, a large hill that forms part of theWicklowMountains. The children were excited at the prospect so despite me wearing flip-flops and… em… minus an all important toe-nail, I agreed.

Now hold on to your bonnets, the frantic fishwife part is coming up!

We spent a fabulous and fun-filled hour heading towards the peak, stopping to take photos and admire the view. And that’s when it happened. Suddenly there were just four of us and not six – the two boys, aged seven and fourteen, had somehow taken the lead and we couldn’t see them. I continued at a steady pace with the two girls and sent my husband on ahead to catch up with the boys. Minutes later we arrived at the top but the boys were nowhere to be seen.

For anyone who’s never mislaid a child, let me tell you, the feeling of panic is like no other. I began by only slightly hyperventilating but within a minute, when I realised that there was absolutely no sign of them and even more frightening, there were many places where they could have fallen over the edge, I was hysterical. My husband and I screamed their names, our voices carrying and eerily echoing through the mountains. People far below us could obviously hear us because they were looking up to see what the shouting was all about. That made it worse. Surely if the boys were okay, they’d shout back.

The other people around us at the top of the hill immediately sprung into action, taking descriptions of the boys, noting their names and even taking my phone number in case they’d find them on their way back down. If by any chance any of those people are reading this now, thank you, thank you, thank you! I could see the worry on other parents’ faces as though it was their own children who were missing and enjoyment of their own day long forgotten; they were on a mission to find the missing boys.

I’ll get straight to the happier bit now – I won’t tell you how I cried like I’ve never cried before. I won’t tell you that I felt like it was the end of my world. I could never even begin to describe the gut-wrenching feeling of dread when I looked over the side of the mountain and thought of what might have happened. But I will tell you they were found a half an hour later. Somebody who was on their way back down phoned a friend who was still up on top of the hill to say he’d found them. He brought them to a point where I could see them and they waved up at me. Thank God! I thought I’d never get back down to hug the living daylights out of them. It seems that for that split second that we lost sight of them, they took a different path that brought them to the top quicker and when they couldn’t see us, they headed back down. But of course they missed us on the way as we were taking a different route! How simple something like that can happen!

We managed to put the whole incident behind us and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the day. But I was never so happy as when late last night I went and kissed each of my precious, sleeping children. Then I got to thinking; if only we were like elephants and were blessed with trunks and tails…!

Maria x

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week February 21, 2011

 

This week is National Eating Disorder Awareness week and I find it very disturbing to learn that a staggering 1.6 million people in the UK and over 200,000 in Ireland are affected by this condition.  I watched a very poignant interview today on ITV’s This Morning, where Eamonn Holmes and Ruth Langsford interviewed two viewers whose lives have been damaged by eating disorders.  One girl, Sian Selby, saw her mother suffer from anorexia and subsequently die from the disorder and the other girl, Lucy Clarkson, suffered from bulimia for five years.  Both stories were very different but the common denominator was the fact that lives have been ruined by the disease.

The term ‘eating disorder’ refers to an illness which manifests itself in a variety of unhealthy eating and weight control behaviours that become obsessive and compulsive.  The issue is too vast and complex for me to go into here, but for anyone suffering from the illness or worried about a loved one, the ITV website has provided a comprehensive list of help-lines and websites here http://thismorning.itv.com/thismorning/eating-disorders 

I’m fortunate not to have suffered from an eating disorder myself but like most people; my weight has fluctuated through the years.  Having been a size ten through my teens and twenties, I hated the fact that my thirties saw my waistline expanding if I so much as looked at a piece of chocolate cake.  Of course I’ve tried all the diets – haven’t we all?  But listening to Sian Selby’s account of how she watched her mother starve herself to death made me really think about how much our children pick up on.  I now have a teenage girl who’s become very conscious of how she looks and how she’s perceived by others.  I think society is to blame for the pressure a lot of young people feel to be thin or beautiful but as parents, surely we have a duty to show our children that it’s okay to just be themselves and not to have to fit in to society’s idea of ‘perfect’.

This subject is close to my heart, having known some people who’ve suffered and are still suffering with the disease.  I just thought I’d share with you a poem I wrote a little while ago on the subject.

ANOREXIA

A young girl watched her mum as she

conformed to how society

dictated how a girl should look -

a little nip, a little tuck.

Although just five, she took it in

and saw how chocolate was a sin.

No sweets or biscuits were allowed.

A healthy diet – mum was proud.

By age of nine she often heard

her mum discussing how she cared

so much about her size and weight

and how size six made her feel great.

When she was twelve she realised

that big was bad and she despised

the buds of breasts that just appeared,

for she might now look fat, she feared.

So this young girl of chubby form,

she sadly thought it was the norm

to diet and to exercise.

To be like mum – her crucial prize.

When in her teens her carbs she cut,

along with fatty things that put

an ounce of flesh upon her waist.

Her view of self was sure misplaced.

For in the mirror she would look,

while standing tall she’d try to suck

her tummy in but sadly there

was not an ounce of flesh to share.

With every day her frame grew thin.

A chubby girl she saw within.

The bones protruding from her hips

and still no food would pass her lips.

At sixteen she could walk no more,

emaciated to the core,

with failing heart and fading sight.

No will to live or win this fight.

Her mother sat beside her bed.

A string of endless prayers she said,

but through the night she cried bereft

because her darling girl had left.

So is society to blame?

Yes, we should hang our heads in shame.

This twisted world we’re living in

despises fat and honours thin.

As parents we should fight the fight

and be our children’s guiding light.

Maria xx

Happy New Year! January 3, 2011

Well it’s about time I paid some attention to this poor neglected blog!  As some of you may know, I’ve had a busy few months.  I’ve been finishing my novel, which is now with my agent, and I’ve been interviewing for hellomagazine.com and you can see some of my interviews here. 

January is upon us and the two words foremost in my mind at the moment are sales and diets!  If you’re like me, you’ll drool at the thought of the fabulous January sales and then moan and groan at the disarray and the crowds and wish you hadn’t bothered.  And as for the diet – for me, it’s always going to start tomorrow!  So in the spirit of January and the post Christmas blues, I thought I share with you one of my silly and light-hearted poems. 

I’d like to wish you all a very happy, healthy and successful new year and thank you for all your support and friendship in 2010.  Hope the poem brings a smile:

Merciless Mirror

I love to hunt for bargain deals,

I thrive in stalking sales.

The thought of rummaging appeals,

through all the discount rails.

One day as I was walking by

a little antique shop,

a gorgeous mirror caught my eye -

of course, I had to stop.

Oh what a deal, a shopper’s bliss,

I paid just twenty pounds.

I felt elated not to miss

this bargain that I’d found.

I’d never had a full-length one;

my heart was truly shocked.

To see my body was no fun,

my confidence was knocked.

I saw my face had dropped a bit,

with crow’s feet round my eyes.

My tummy showed I wasn’t fit.

I cringed at thunder thighs!

My boobs had dropped ten inches down

to almost meet that tum.

My bingo wings just made me frown,

along with saggy bum.

I needed something done with haste

to fix my ailing look.

So off I went, no time to waste,

to get some nip and tuck.

So three months later, there I stood,

with all my bits in place.

They fixed my bod as best they could,

transformed my tired old face.

A bargain for my mirror? That

must surely be a joke.

I’m looking good, no longer fat,

but absolutely broke!

* * * * * *

Lots of love,

Maria x

LOOK OUT MOM – HERE I COME! November 13, 2010

Well it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here.  It’s just so hard to keep up with everything, isn’t it?  I’m really busy at the moment, both in my personal life and in my writing one, but that’s a good thing.  I could moan about how there doesn’t seem to be a bottom to my ironing basket or the fact that my kids think I’m both a cash machine and a taxi service, but I won’t.  Nor will I moan about the fact that sometimes the only time I can find to write is when everyone else is sleeping and sometimes they’re actually all waking up by the time I’m contemplating going to bed!

So since I’m not moaning about anything, I’ll tell you something nice.  I spotted my 13 year old son writing a story the other day and I asked him if I could have a look.  I won’t tell you what I thought about it because you all know what I’m going to say!  I’m just going to post it here and let you all make up your own minds.  I’m writing it exactly as it appears in his copy – in his own words.  I’ve told him I’m posting it here so we’d be grateful for your comments.

A WINTER’S NIGHT IN THE CITY

It’s Christmas Eve.  The last light has long since diminished, only to be replaced by stars.  The yellow glow from the street lamps is casting an eerie light on the roads.  A soft white blanket is beginning to form as the snow falls heavily from the skies.

The cold sends tremors tingling down the backs of the occasional figure hurrying through the streets of Dublin city.  The steam from their steady breaths billows in front of them, instantly rising and disappearing into the night sky.

A woman steps out of a doorway into a desolate street.  She is greeted by a rush of cold air, pressing against her face.  Mary turns and waves goodbye as her friend, Jackie, stands watching from inside her house.  She rounds the corner and disappears.

Mary shivers as she walks through the narrow alleyway which seperates the main street from Jackie’s house and pulls up her jacket, covering her mouth, to stop the cold from getting into her bare skin.

As she continues through the back streets and alleyways towards her house, she hears the subtle crunch of footsteps coming from behind.  She nervously glances over her shoulder.   Nothing.  Pulling her jacket across her face, she quickens her pace. 

As she nears the end of the road, she catches a glimpse of a single figure hurring towards her out of the corner of her eye.  Fear rises up inside her and as she turns the corner, she breaks into a sprint.  She hears the man shout, but whatever he said is muffled by the wind.  The gap is closing between the pair and sweat begins to drip down Mary’s forehead.

A sense of relief cuts into her thoughts as she sees her house at the end of the next road.  But as these thoughts whizz around in her head, she fails to notice the lump of snow she’s approaching.  She trips and plants her face in the snow with a shrill scream.  She scrambles to get up and get away as quickly as possible.  Too late.  The man is standing in front of her, dressed in scraggy clothes with a long scar running down the side of his face.  Just as she’s about to scream, he smiles and hands her something.

‘My scarf,’ she says, quietly.  ‘How did you…’

He cuts her off.  ‘You dropped it back there.’

Mary blushes.  ‘I’m sorry.  Thank you.  It’s just…’

He interrupts again.  ‘No need to apologise; I shouldn’t have frightened you like that.’

Mary smiles.  ‘Well, thanks again.  Bye.’

She walks away, embarrassed knowing how wrong she had been and thinking what a nice man he was, following her on such a bad night.

And as the man walks away in the opposite direction, he smiles.  How easy had that been, he thinks to himself, as he roots through the contents of the purse he’s just slipped from her handbag!

The End

A Pint And A Haircut – True Irish Stories for Haiti September 29, 2010

If you follow me on Twitter, I may have filled your time-line lately with much squeeing and happy dancing. One of the reasons for this is that I’m having a short story published in a book called A Pint And A Haircut – True Irish Stories For Haiti. But you’ll already know that (remember – squeeing and happy dancing?)

I’m sure you don’t want me to bore you with the details of my own story, but let me tell you a little about the book and how it came about. Garret Pearse had been reading True Tales of American Lives by Paul Auster when the Haitian earthquake struck. He thought how wonderful it would be if he could do an Irish version as a way of raising money for Haiti.

So about my own story… ah no, only joking!

And so A Pint And A Haircut was born. It’s a collection of around seventy true Irish stories. The authors come from various walks of life and from all around the world. Now I did suggest we have a launch in each of the countries represented (just to be fair, you know) but Garret wasn’t keen.

Sometimes when the news flashes die down and the papers stop printing stories of a disaster, we tend to forget. It’s not on the telly any more so everything must be okay. Well it’s far from okay in struggling Haiti. Garret hopes that this book will bring awareness of the ongoing plight of Haitian people and all royalties will go directly to Concern’s ongoing relief work there.

Now I know you’re on the edge of your seat; waiting to hear all about my own story that’s included in the book, aren’t you? Yes? I thought so! My story is one that’s been told to me and my brother many times by our mother. It involves a lost engagement ring, a win on the pools and a car called Daisy. Mum and Dad have been married for 55 years and are very proud to have a story published about them.

And just in case this post is too short (because we all know how I hate to babble on!), it’s the third one in a blog tour. You can see the first one here written by Eolai gan Fheile, who’s painted the fantastic cover for the book as well as having a story included. The second one is by another one of the authors, Jane Travers, and you can see her post here.

And finally, the book should be available in all good book shops or order it online directly from the publisher, Londubh Books.

Maria x

DIDDLE ME RIDDLE September 19, 2010

It’s a cold and rainy day here in Dublin so I thought I’d post something that hopefully will make you smile. I write a lot of children’s poetry but the ones my children especially love, are the ones that tie their tongues in knots and have them giggling in their efforts to recite them as quickly as possible. Hope you enjoy!

Diddle Me Riddle

A diddle on the fiddle in the middle of the riddle
In the middle of the riddle was a cat
The tabby was so flabby said the shabby little cabbie
So the flabby little tabby went and spat

The spittle hit Sir Wittle who was brittle just a little
But the spittle on Sir Wittle wasn’t wise
So clever little Trevor who is never happy ever
He said never to be clever just surmise

The pony was a phoney which had Tony feeling lonely
So the phoney little pony upped and left
While going he was showing that the snowing started blowing
And the blowing of the snowing very deft

So happy was this chappie though the sappy little nappy
Had this happy little chappie with an itch
So Eddie always ready with a steady little teddy
Gave the steady little teddy to the witch

The hairy one was scary so along came fairy Mary
So then little fairy Mary saved the day
She twinkled and she winkled and her crinkled smile was wrinkled
So she twinkled and she winkled all the way

The moral of the story full of glory never gory
As the story full of glory I’ll defend
So fiddle with the riddle till the middle makes you diddle
As the diddle little riddle says – THE END

Maria x

The Big Book of Hope Launch September 10, 2010

Hope helps us to control our fears. In times of sickness, poverty or mourning, she’ll give us courage and a sense of direction. Although we may sometimes feel we’ve lost her, she’ll always be there, quietly waiting to take our hand and guide us.

Hope gets us through the dark nights with the promise of the rising sun. She fans her feathers like a peacock and fills us with excitement of what lies ahead. We may sometimes feel we’re risking pain by letting her in but the greatest pain of all is to be without her.

Hope is the music that banishes grief. We should cherish her and always allow our hearts to be filled with her song.

When I first heard of The Big Book Of Hope I was excited. I was thrilled that two of my friends, Hazel Larkin and Vanessa O’Loughlin, were bringing together such a fantastic group of people to share their immense talent in a book. This amazing book of short stories has something for everybody. The contributors range from best-selling authors and celebrities to business people and political figures. The stories are a mix of fiction, non-fiction and memoir and all have a common theme of hope.

Although I knew all the proceeds would be going to a good cause, I didn’t really think much beyond that. Last night I was at the launch and stood listening to Maureen Forrest, founder director of The Hope Foundation. I really struggled to keep my emotions under control. Did you know that 250,000 children live on the streets of Calcutta? They are born into extreme poverty and many are abandoned and abused. They eat, sleep, wash and go to the toilet in the streets and in the slums of the city. The Hope Foundation, founded in 1999, funds many different projects that have the single aim of changing the lives of these children and their families. Their goal is to provide supports and skills that will enable them to build a better future for themselves, free of poverty.

The launch was a great success. There were many whispers of “ooh look who’s over there” and “doesn’t he/she look different in real life” as well as the clink of glasses and requests to “fill it up again please” (but that last one had nothing to do with me!) All the books were sold on the night which hopefully is a sign of things to come.

This book will save lives. Available now in bookshops, Tesco and online at www.poolbeg.com

Maria x