Looking around at the piles of clothes and odd socks that seem determined to remain odd, sticky furniture, fingerprinted windows, dusty floors that seem to breed dirt and overflowing bin bags I want to crawl back into bed, dream of a wish granting genie and hope that sometimes dreams really do come true. I can’t face another day of this mundane routine, no matter how much I tidy the mess monsters follow me around and undo all my hard work until it looks like I haven’t bothered anyway.
I understand this is my job, when I decided to be a stay at home mum I knew the pay was piss poor and benefits were lacking. I don’t want or expect much, I don’t expect to be thanked for washing and tidying and taking them to after school activities, helping with homework, not to mention feeding them bathing them etc etc but..... and this is a big but, what I would really love is a smidgen of appreciation, to be treated like another human being, to have them say please and thank you ( I’m pretty sure I taught them these words) yet they are no longer used. I’m fed up of the stinking looks I permanently receive as if I’m a murderer and should be looked at no other way.
I have twin teenager’s one girl and one boy- Ava and Alfie-both evil
And I have a 3 year old boy- Adam (teenager in practise) I blame the big 2 for his attitude and not myself!
I was completely unprepared for the joys of teenagers and think its wholly unfair that I’m experiencing a double helping of hormones. I’m still unsure who is worse but I’m leaning towards my daughter who’s periods recently started and now she acts like she’s in training to be the devils aide. Every day I wake up expecting to find the start of red horns or some other tell that she’s really crossed over to the dark side.
My son has sticky sheets- ewww, yuck, ewww, I don’t even know how to broach this so I won’t, he is also full of angst, obsessed with girls and they bounce their emotions off one another seeming to relish in winding each other up and constantly proving to me that not all twins love and adore each other.
Besides trying to wade through teenageryness my 3 year old is a terror and not in a cute endearing way like some people say ‘aww what a little terror’ he is just a whirlwind with many varying interests that keeps me on my toes at all times and I mean keeps me on my toes. The one time I attempted snoozing in the afternoon after being kept awake by him all night was the last time as he tried to gouge my eyes out until I sat up and played.
He now has an obsession with being followed which is good you’d probably think but no, he doesn’t like the moon following him, takes great offence at his shadow following him and all out freaks out if birds follow him- so you see these are things I can’t prevent from following him but he still expects me too. I’m his mum after all, it’s my job to pander to his every whim and when I don’t or can’t I get the ‘I am double jointed dance freak out’ where he flails into positions I’ve never been able to including the arched back and kangaroo feet. He puts in some Oscar worthy performances. I mean really he should win one, he can cry on command and not just making noise he summons real tears while his bottom lip tremors, if it wasn’t so annoying and used on me at the most inconvenient places I would applaud him.
Today’s argument is; he can’t possibly tidy his toys away because he has a bad leg but he also wants to play football, hmmm is it just me or if he has a bad leg surely he can’t play football?
When I say this though I’m met with a pouty lip as he’s learnt from his sister when taking selfies, doesn’t look like pouting to me though, looks like they’ve had an allergic reaction and their lips have blown up.
He starts rolling around on the floor chanting “I want to play football, I want to play football.” I don’t have the energy for this, the bigs have gone to school, thank god and I can’t wait for this one to start. I realise I sound grumpy and today I am. I’m feeling sorry for myself, for being unappreciated. As parents we’re expected to only ever glow about what darlings we gave birth to when in reality 80% of the day is soul draining the other 20% makes up if they’re asleep, out of the way or if they have said 1 thing that day that made you laugh, and to be honest I’m not sure those figures are correct.
Yes I commit the cardinal sin of giving in and letting him have a ball while I tidy away his toys and yes you perfect parents I know this is wrong and I’m making a rod for my own back blah blah blah but sometimes, especially on bad days yes it’s easier to give in, take the easy option, regret it and make up for it later. I don’t judge you for having a stick up your perfect arses don’t judge me for not having one up my flabby arse.
I know and am well aware of perfect parenting practises I’ve watched super nanny and house of tiny tearaways and I agree it generally is the parents fault and that’s why I blame their father. Their dad works away- yes away like the clever creature he is, he took a job far away from the chaos he left me with and spends 2 days a week with us (he assures me that working away with his mates is just as hard on him and he misses us dearly) I’m sure whenever I get off the phone to him he rolls around laughing at what a mug I am.
The best thing is when I complain about the childrens behaviour he has a multitude of suggestions on what I could do better, then comes home on a Friday night and gives them anything they ask for, guilt-for being away. And again perfect parents, I’m well aware that we have to be on the same page and back each other up otherwise they sense our weakness but like I’ve made clear- I’m not a perfect parent.
So as I was saying he undermines my authority the whole weekend then waves cheerily when he leaves again.
So imagine how my eyes lit up when I sit down to check my email- ok I was really checking facebook, again stop judging me, and I see an ad for mum’s retreat.
I’m sold and I want one without reading any further. I start imagining a full nights sleep, clean clothes, unlimited alcohol and peace when my son pipes up “I want a biscuit!”
“Please can I have a biscuit?” I correct
“Aww mum give me biscuit.” He moans
“Say please.” I stand firm, go me and before you start thinking I should be giving him healthier substitutes, I believe in giving them treats and fruit- so there.
“Please I have a biscuit?”
“Good boy, yes I’ll get you one now.”
I’m back in seconds and reading through the mum’s vacation ad;
If you decide mums vacation is for you the details are as follow, you will need to find a suitable adult that you trust to look after your children for the week, someone they are familiar with and we will send a qualified childcare professional to help who will keep a film diary for you to keep you informed of how they cope in your absence.
You will be sent to a luxury resort to spend your time as you wish, be it at the pool, shopping or catching up on a much needed sleep. We have a beauty centre which includes everything from facials and massage to acrylics and hairdressing. Breakfast, lunch and dinner can be ordered to your room or be taken in our dining area where entertainment is also provided.
All is included in the price.
I’m slightly giddy but not stupid I haven’t looked at the price because I’ve convinced myself to go and I know once I look at it my dreams will be shattered.
My son comes running in from the garden crying and I jump up chastising myself for being so engrossed in my computer I wasn’t watching him play ball.
“What’s wrong baby?” I ask as I scoop him into my arms
“The bundabee got me.” He says lip quivering (That’s bumblebee to you and me.)
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