Interfering Mammies.
What's the difference between a pitbull and an Irish Mammy?
Eventually a Pitbull will let go.
Oh Lordy, I REALLY have to stop listening to Brenda Power in the morning. One minute I"m buttering toast, next I yelling at the radio. It's not good for my blood pressure I tell you.
This morning's shout-fest occurred when some absolute tool called Gerry came on the comment line and started telling-with some considerable pride- how his Mammy looked after him. He was in his thirties and living at home, not because he couldn't afford his own place, but because his mammy did such a god job of 'minding' him.
She did his washing and ironing, cooked all his meals, made him sandwiches for work, bought his clothes for him and brought him a fry in bed on the weekends. Sure why would he move out?
Could you imagine? No woman will ever be good enough for this 'boy'. Seriously, my skin was crawling when he was talking. He was so...pathetic.
Years ago a friend of mine dated just such a yoke. He couldn't fart without checking with mammy first. It all came to a head when they were supposed to be going away a romantic weekend and he started dropping not so casual hints that his mammy 'could do with a break as well.'
Well, as you can imagine that was the end of that.
My brother moved to Australia to get out from under the thumb of our mother.
There was a man who came on and told Brenda about his daughter who came home to her new house one day and found her partner's mother had bought all the furniture for their bedroom, without even discussing it. And it was pine, which his daughter hated.
I don't even blame the men-although I do think they should grow up- but what the hell are these women thinking? What sort of useless gombs are they raising? What sort of man would sit up in his bed and LET his mother bring him up breakfast in bed?
Mammies, let go. Your precious babies won't drop dead of neglect.
Eventually a Pitbull will let go.
Oh Lordy, I REALLY have to stop listening to Brenda Power in the morning. One minute I"m buttering toast, next I yelling at the radio. It's not good for my blood pressure I tell you.
This morning's shout-fest occurred when some absolute tool called Gerry came on the comment line and started telling-with some considerable pride- how his Mammy looked after him. He was in his thirties and living at home, not because he couldn't afford his own place, but because his mammy did such a god job of 'minding' him.
She did his washing and ironing, cooked all his meals, made him sandwiches for work, bought his clothes for him and brought him a fry in bed on the weekends. Sure why would he move out?
Could you imagine? No woman will ever be good enough for this 'boy'. Seriously, my skin was crawling when he was talking. He was so...pathetic.
Years ago a friend of mine dated just such a yoke. He couldn't fart without checking with mammy first. It all came to a head when they were supposed to be going away a romantic weekend and he started dropping not so casual hints that his mammy 'could do with a break as well.'
Well, as you can imagine that was the end of that.
My brother moved to Australia to get out from under the thumb of our mother.
There was a man who came on and told Brenda about his daughter who came home to her new house one day and found her partner's mother had bought all the furniture for their bedroom, without even discussing it. And it was pine, which his daughter hated.
I don't even blame the men-although I do think they should grow up- but what the hell are these women thinking? What sort of useless gombs are they raising? What sort of man would sit up in his bed and LET his mother bring him up breakfast in bed?
Mammies, let go. Your precious babies won't drop dead of neglect.
posted by fatmammycat at 9:53 a.m.
33 Comments:
"What sort of useless gombs are they raising?"
the kind that will bring THEM breakfast in bed in 40 years instead of trucking them off to Assisted Living.
doesn't sound so bad now, does it.
Sure enough, Missus, soon there'll be no Irish mammies left at all at all. They'll all be parked in nursing homes muttering "Ah now, don't mind me" to each other. And saying, "Oh, ye're so good to come all this way, you shouldn't have troubled yourselves getting me anything" when they get their annual birthday visit.
I do hope the Paramour's Mammy is looking out for him, seing as how you're so terrifically busy training... and him having to cook for himself and be accomodatingly domestic. God be with the days, etc etc
my god, he gets a fry in bed at the week-end, and you expect him to LEAVE. For pities sake he's a growing lad. Go for your run and don't concern yourself with his welfare, shure his Ma will take good care of him
Italian men are all like that. And lots of women too - I know a girl who at the ripe old age of 27 moved to a town 2 hours away for a year to do a course, and her mother went down once a week to do the cleaning for her. I know another guy whose parents went away for a month leaving him 2 weeks supply of home-cooked meals in the freezer, and the mother interrupted her holiday to come home for a weekend to clean and cook him another two weeks worth.
Needless to say both are now in their mid-thirties and still single...
If I could PAY someone to deliver me breakfast of any kind, never mind a fry, and double never feckin mind in bed, I'd move them in too.
I just don't understand it, how could anybody willingly live with his or her mother?. I have to live with mine for a while until I find a new house, It's only been two day and I swear to God I'm going to kill her, If I don't buy something by Friday I'm either going to set my dog on her or tell her my fathers having an affair just something to put things on an even keel. That guy must have a strong constitution.
A female friend of mine moved out of home to move in with her fiancé. They live about a mile down the road.
She still goes home two nights a week to stay with her mammy.
Another friend of mine went to college for undergrad degree and PhD and spent an hour on the phone with her mammy every day for eight years. Couldn't go to the pub until her phone call was taken care of every day.
Its not just the boys...
Oh, great topic and post, FMC.
It's not just an Irish thing either.
There was just an article about how in Italy the government is trying to bribe men into leaving mommy and getting their own place and family started.
Sure, why leave when you have a slave, I mean maid to meet all your needs.
AT Mr. M's party I was talking with 2 men, one born in Canada and one born in Turkey (in their 40s and 30s) who both said when their moms came to visit they let her clean, cook, etc "because it made her happy." They could not have been more surprised by my reaction.
Can you imagine raising a child who thought that you loved to be servile and do nothing but service them? Oh my god I almost slapped them.
I do NOT understand people who cannot cut the apron string. I don't understand women who baby their adult children and I do not understand adult children who allowed themselves to be treated as babies.
I simply cannot get my head around it.
My god I couldn't wait to leave home when I was growing up. I'd count down the days until I could leave and not legally be classed as a runaway.
My (as yet unconceived) kids will be getting suitcases as 18th birthday presents.
Medbh - I'd forgotten about that - they're offering a grand a year to help with rent for adults under 30 who are still living at home. The minister who wanted to introduce it referred to adults who still live at home as "bamboccioni" or "big babies" and there was a huge public outcry about his insulting language and lack of respect!
I moved out at 17 for college but it is young. Some of my mates are still at home. I wonder at what age should you get your marching orders?!
It was very prevalent when I was young but I thought it was dying out.
I adored my sons but at age eighteen felt it was time for them to become independent and time for some me time
FMC, I was just like you with scratching to get out. I knew two women when I was a teen who were allowed to live on their own, provided they kept grades up and held a job. I asked at 16 to move out and the answer was a firm no.
Caro, thank for that I forgot what they were dangling in front of the men to grow a pair already.
I was out the door at 16 whether she said no or not- she didn't. We'd have killed each other if I'd stayed and I mean killed. She grabbed me and shook me so hard the week before I left that three of the buttons on the shirt I was wearing pinged off and hit the wall on the other side of the room. I kid you not, that was the day I lost all fear of her and I remember saying that if she put her hand on me again I'd break it off and for the first time ever it dawned on her that I meant it.
I don't think kids should automatically be shown the door the moment they turn 18, but likewise I think kids should be raised to want to be independent when they become an adults.
I agree FMC I wouldn't have the heart to give them the boot, I still wouldn't take any shit though.
O and dude 16 what did you do? what about college and the like? She sounds like a meanie auld so and so but mine had her moments so I sympathise.
I carried on Nonny, to become the mildly psychotic, cat loving, cheese quoffing, slow running, rum drinker I am today.
Mildly psychotic and your still you out, sure that’s an achievement in itself. But a farming class hero ehh, who climbed the ranks all on her ownie o. I like it, I like it a lot, tis a most admirable plight indeed, well done dude.
My sister's husband has a younger brother who is 34 and he still lives at home, rent free-despite both his parents expressing a wish to sell the house and down size. When it was suggested to them by my brother in law that they just sell the bloody house and be damned, the mammy got openly upset and said something along the lines of 'Oh sure we couldn't do that to the poor crator, sure where would he go?"
Mammies, who'd have 'em!
I wanted my best friend's mammy to adopt me soooo badly when I was growing up. She was and still is lovely. One of those soft cuddly funny mammies that bakes. Lordy I was so jealous.
I reckon some women just can't or won't redefine themselves as anything else than mothers after active mothering is supposed to taper off. For some the motherly, nurturing instinct has curdled and become sickly and unwholesome; it's a problem with them rather than their big babbie sons and daughters. Something is lacking.
I have male cousins and friends in their 30s who still live at home and get fry-ups form their mammies.
In these households nobody ever gets off their arses to make their own cups of tea. They just tell their mam to make some no matter if she's just come in from the shopping or work or the rain or whatever. She does it and, perversely, the self-sacrifice of skivvying after her grown, able-bodied children seems to be what she wants.
I would be a whirl-wind of ear slapping if my able bodied son told me to get the tea on as I stepped through the door.
Shook the buttons off your shirt?!
Holy shit, FMC.
I think I'm better for doing my own laundry at 10, cooking my own food at 14, working since I was 14 (don't count my present unemployed slacker-self, and moving out at 18. I don't know how thirty-somethings living with the parents can sleep at night.
Have you ever shared/lived with someone who moved straight out of The Mammy's - and had stayed there too long?! Nightmare. Mugs don't magic themselves off the coffee table and into the sink. The fridge doesn't automatically fill itself up. And them using the last of your juice/washing powder/toothpaste because they are used to stuff just being replaced by someone else just gets really irritating!
Toilet paper doesn't magically buy itself and appear in the loo. Oh yes, I've been there!
Oh my god - I forgot about that one! Makes you want to slap!! And then, to make matters worse, they can't understand why you're annoyed! Shared with a school friend who lived at home until she was 27. She's not a friend any more! That sounds very harsh, but there is only so long (6 months) of that selfish carry-on that I could take.
Quite right.
No more, 'oh, did you want the last tea-bag?'or, 'I didn't realise those were your sausages.'
Crikey, I got packed off to boarding school at thirteen. Everyone I knew wanted to move in to my parents house. One friend, after university went to stay with my parents for a week as he got a job near to where they lived. He left three months later. Seven years later he shouted me London-Chicargo as a thank you present for lending my parents to him.
Mr. M was friends with a guy years ago who had a mother who took them all in at one time or another except for Mr. M who always kept a job and an apartment. This lady put up with so much and was a widow and a saint. (Her husband was working with the mob and got caught and he killed himself rather than go to jail for them). Her one rule was that you couldn't say fuck in the house and I broke it.
No one told me. I felt like a heel when she dropped her knitting needles.
You can't say 'fuck' on the internet either, Medbh. You're barred, love.
My step-mother drove 670km from Penticton to Calgary last Monday to cook her son and his girlfriend Thanksgiving dinner. And she's English. (Catholic, though. I think this may make a difference.)
Yes, Gimme, it does. As everyone knows protestants are cunts.
hey Twenty, you don't seem to like Prods, is it just because they're all cunts
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