Accepting your fate.
Having children, whether it’s 1 or 100, is a curious thing really. You think ‘Ah, it will be lovely. A cute little person running around being cute…’ For some of the time it is just that. And you’ve earned that cute time, whatever route you’ve taken to get to parenthood, you damn well deserve some cute.
But what you don’t take into consideration (trust me on this, because I’ve done this 3 times and the dynamic changes every time) is that on a daily basis at the very least, you will look around you, sigh in resignation and accept that things will just not go your way. Because your toddler has acquired an ink pad and stamped her socks black, your 5 year old cannot bear the fact that your 10 year old is getting some attention, which eventually results in both girls running naked around the kitchen in front of your 10 year old and his friends shouting ‘BUM BUM BUM BUM!’
This is your life now.
In hindsight, I suppose this should really have been my first post. This is, after all, what prompted the start of Graphic Mummy. ‘This’ being my incredulous rants on all topics surrounding parenting my small humans. My posts have always been met with a great response and I’ve become known as ‘that Mum’… Which now I come to think about it, may not actually be a good thing…
Anyway, I decided to round up a collection of my rants and pop them all in one place. It’s been my intention for a while, but you know… Life and all that. You’re welcome x
A glimpse into my boy’s social skills
Jesse wants some friends round to play a board game and eat pizza. He rarely goes out of his way to be sociable so I encouraged it, contacted a few mums to arrange an evening at our house. There were 2 mums that I had no way of contacting so I told Jesse to give his friends my number and ask their mum’s to get in touch. Sorted. This will be straight forward…
What actually happened was that I got one very confused phone call and one equally confused text from 2 confused mums with 2 confused boys. Because Jesse hadn’t actually bothered to explain why I was trying to contact them. He had neatly written my number and full name (much to the boys’ amusement because ‘Mayo-Candy’, right?!) and told them “Can you ask your mum to text my mum because she wants to text them something.”
And that, Ladies and Gentlefolk, is why my son has no social life.
Jesse has just discovered a website called ‘how secure is your password’ and decided to challenge it:
J: Mollie-Ann give me a word…
M: HOT! *makes a blowing sound*
J: 2 picoseconds… River! Give me a word…
River: I just LOVE CANDY!
Me: River, it’s sweets. Candy is American, and we are….
River: …. ENGLISH!…. I was going to say vegetarian… We’re vegetarian aren’t we? Robin’s not though. Robin is meat.
(Later that evening)
River: I Just LOVE CANDY!
River: Sweets. I mean sweets… I think I’m just going to be American now.
… So that settles that.
I feel I need to update you all on the torture that is Peppa Pig. It’s sports day, Peppa is all talk but loses every event then gets upset that she hasn’t won anything. Cue the final event – tug of war: the rope snaps and everyone gets a prize … CAN WE JUST TAKE A DAMN SECOND HERE PLEASE?!
1. Peppa didn’t win shit.
2. What kind of cheap ass crap did they buy for it to snap under the strain of 6 toddlers?
Mollie-Ann dropped a crisp on the floor and the cat licked it. Mollie-Ann started screaming MEOWWWWW. AHHH!!! MEOWWWWWW. Long story short – I’ve now got Branston pickle and butter down my walls.
My day started with Mollie-Ann throwing a bowl of Cheerios across the floor because I wouldn’t put ketchup on them.
Now she’s just thrown a fork and a runner bean at me because River won’t hand over all of her cutlery. It’s been a long day. #LetsHaveABabyHeSaid.
Update whilst typing: River has surrendered all of her cutlery. Mollie-Ann is eating her peas one by one with her fingers.
Rowena’s day pt 2: Mollie-Ann allowed River to feed her vegetables using the aforementioned liberated cutlery, by which time we were late picking Jesse up from his school trip. We all piled into the car and went up to Oakfield where there was nowhere to park. We parked halfway down Nunney Road. No problem, except I HAD FORGOTTEN OUR SHOES. Thankfully, we live in Frome. So no one batted an eyelid at me and my scraggy ketchup covered imps huffing up the hill with bare feet. ?
I guess there’s a win in there somewhere…
I just walked past a young mum looking lovely in her summer dress, hair nicely done, I looked down at my shorts and vest and thought ‘I guess I’m just one of those practical, no frills mums. Then I heard a guy shout, ‘Well look at you looking all summery!’ To which the lovely looking mummy replied, ‘Ah mate, I am fucking sweating my tits off!’
A reminder that we’re all the same.
Mighty meadow exploration #toddlerlife #adventurebaby #frome @ Frome, Somerset
EDIT: Ok. I feel I should edit this post: Yes, my girl is beautiful. But the sugar coated post is (as all posts are) a carefully selected snap shot.
Here’s my actual morning: after the school run I decided to take Mollie-Ann for a walk because her horrendous temper has made her challenging company. I thought I’d wear her out to reduce the amount of energy she has for her (sometimes twice) daily episode of kicking the f*ck off. Clever mummy. I just had to get through town and down Willow Vale….. Relentless whinging ensued until we got the edge of the meadow where I majestically released her into the wild. She ran around, looked in some bushes, laughed. Idillic.
I managed to capture her being adorable. We had a solid 10 minutes of this before I decided to walk off, leaving her flat on her back screaming in the grass because I don’t even know why, wearing one shoe because she stepped in poo.
Side note: she eventually got up and followed me, covered in snot and pitifully demanding a cuddle. We had a cuddle. Because I had to be an adult. Ugh.
I know I’m not alone in this madness. Niether are you.
This post is in loving memory of Shinobi Van Winklestein.
He was an utter pain in my ass, but we all miss him terribly.