It’s a time of abstinence but in Emma’s household it’s their words they watch, not waistlines.

YOU know what I discovered this week? That I’m a big old baby when it comes to pain. I’ve had this niggling ache in my neck for a few weeks, that started out as some very mild stiffness in the morning. It usually sorted itself out after the first coffee and I thought it might have had something to do with my pillows (and not my age), even though I’ve never been a fan of too many.

Years back, my mum told me that her mother told her that too many pillows will give you a double chin, and there’s nothing you want to avoid more in life than a double chin so I’ve always been a fan of the skinny pillow. My neck got steadily worse though and was especially bad at night. So then I tried propping myself up on some plump pillows (I figured a double chin wouldn’t come on me overnight) like a character in a Bronte novel, but there was no relief (or sleep) to be had.

A few days later it got to the point where I couldn’t move my head independently of my body. I was operating as one single unit, which wasn’t too awkward unless I was trying to see if the coast was clear when I was driving, trying to put on my seat belt or walking the dog. Tying up my hair was also quite tortuous, and hugs were out of the question.

All the while though I was letting on that I was fine, grand out, not a bother on me, because I’m a great believer in driving on, until I realised that being crankier than my usual self and whimpering quietly while going about my day was probably a red flag to seek help. Fast forward a few hours later, having seen a physio I was a different woman and I felt foolish for suffering in near-silence.

I’ve my resistance band and am religiously doing my exercises and I’m nearly fully cured. But like I said, it was chastening to realise that it doesn’t much to quieten me. It appears I definitely do not have a brass neck, but a very tight one.

On a completely different topic, I have to confess to having a new guilty pleasure/addiction: Biscoff. Why am I only finding out about this divine concoction now? I adore the biscuits but what I really can’t resist is the jars of the gorgeous crunchy caramel stuff. I’m literally sneaking into the pantry for the odd spoon (or five) every chance I get. I swear my child has booby trapped the place because regardless of where she is in the house she’s on the scene within three seconds flat with her own teaspoon looking to join the party. This won’t end well for our teeth or waistlines, but it’s just so sinfully delicious. I was thinking it might have to go on the list of Lenten sacrifices but in last Sunday’s sermon the priest spoke about perhaps using Lent to take an audit of yourself and your relationships with the people in your life. Sold! He did not mention Biscoff, not once, so why deny myself. Life is hard enough!

Biscoff is proving to be the downfall in Emma's household.

What we are doing in our house for Lent is a ‘J word jar’. It’s got a nice ring to it but it’s basically where every time I say the ‘J’ word (in earshot of anyone) I have to put 20c in the jar. Jesus, it’s a pain. Whoops! I mean ‘sorry’, it’s a bit of a pain, but it was agreed that I was getting a bit sweary and here we are. (See below how I’m the parent who supervises spellings and tin whistle, which will explain a lot). There’s at least €3 in there so far. We haven’t decided what we’ll use it for yet. I don’t see us getting plane tickets to NYC out of it but maybe a jar of Biscoff.

Meanwhile, there was lots of talk last week about a study by insurance and pension company Royal London Ireland who concluded it would cost around €60,112 per year to employ someone to do the various jobs carried out by a stay-at-home parent. That figure is up since 2024, when it stood at €57,140. Funnily enough I don’t remember getting a pay rise? The duties the study assessed included childcare, cleaning, cooking, teaching assistance, gardening and transporting children to activities. I know self-praise is no praise but I think I’m fulfilling the job spec pretty well, except for perhaps the gardening  bit and depending on the day I could be underperforming with the cooking as well.

Anyway, HR hasn’t been in touch so I must be doing something right. Or wait, am I supposed to be doing HR too? Personally though, I think I should be able to apply for some kind of a bonus or profit share for always being the one to check the spellings and sit through the tin whistle practice, not to mind the swimming lessons. And now that I think of it, who do I talk to about taking annual leave on World Book Day, my least-favourite day of the whole school year because it’s when my child thinks I’m Mary Make-and-Do but I’m more Mary-Make-and-Don’t?

Anyway, are we all over the LOLs about Brad Pitt being in West Cork? I was demented with all those photos circulating and couldn’t decide if he was here, or not. I mean I know he wasn’t…was he? Of course it’s easier than ever for real celebs to go under the radar now, what with all this AI malarky.

I’m such a dinosaur that I don’t even use Chat GPT. A pal said I’m missing a trick and even suggested that I could use it to write my column. Could I get away with it, I wonder? It might be half-decent for a change!