Irish mammies are under-appreciated. Fact. Whether you were born and raised here in Ireland or, like myself, were raised elsewhere under the wooden-spoon inspired guidance of an Irish mammy, you were blessed. No seriously, other mammies just aren’t the same craic at all.
I’m not sure whether Irish mammies are just raised with a unique perspective on life or if, in the afterglow of “72 hours of labour to produce an ungrateful pup like you” they suddenly morph into their own mothers. Regardless, the Irish mammy is a force to be reckoned with. Comforting and scary at the same time. The home of cuddles and ‘cop yourself on’ with the ability to morph from ‘nice mammy’ to ‘she’s going for the wooden spoon lads!’ in less than 10 seconds.
Irish mammies have always had a unique perspective on life, love and discipline. For example, only an Irish mammy can threaten to kill you 10 ways before dinner and still inform you its “because I love you”.
There is the standard fare of threats such as:
“Come over here and I’ll really give you something to cry about”
“If you fall off that wall and break your legs, don’t come crying to me.”
“I don't care who started, I'm ending it.”
Or the dreaded “Don’t make me count to three…..one, two....”
And then there are the A+ threats, something produced by mammies who have clearly raised more than three children like:
“Aye run, you’ll have to come home sometime and I know where ye live”
“Keep going on like that and it’ll be you I’ll be living with when I get too old to use the toilet by myself”.
Forget good cop-bad cop, Irish mammies are masters of rhetorical interrogation:
Mammy: “Did you hit your sister? Don’t lie to me I know you did, sure I saw you myself”.
They boast about having eyes in the back of their head and lest you scoff, there is ample evidence to suggest that yes, Irish mammies probably do. Either that or they’ve rigged the house with more surveillance equipment than Fort Knox.
Plus they are full of helpful, if somewhat dire, advice. Like “get up off that cold floor, you’ll get piles” or “sit back from that television/ipad/mobile phone or you’ll go blind” or my personal favourite “of course it tastes bad, it's good for you”.
And their helpful fashion observations are on point.
“Are you going out wearing that? Was nothing else clean?”
“God that dress is a bit tight, you might want to lay off the biscuits for a while love”
“What is that god-awful smell? Ah there you are Seamus, I see you found your father’s aftershave”
But at the back of it all, there’s no one who will stand beside you more than your mammy.
She may despair of you and will more than likely be heard to mutter on more than one occasion “I’ve had it up to here with the lot of ye.”
She’ll definitely berate you and more than likely will, on occasion, make you wish you’d rethought your last escapade.
She may look at you as if you will be the death of her at times, but the truth is no one will love you more, no one will hug you more and no one will ever take the place of your own Irish mammy.