Friday, 16 June 2017

It's not all work, work, work you know. Oh hang on it is.



As we crawl on our hands a knees to the end of the school year the boys are getting demob happy. They are both exhausted and overexcited every day and as a result the house is permanently noisy with crashes, bangs and wails of, "He hit me !" and "Mummy I want to...  eat / watch my programmes / go to the park." My coping mechanism is pretty much to keep them apart as much as possible until Hubbie gets home. That way I don't have to undertake surveillance the whole time and I can actually get them something to eat or just leave the room momentarily.

Today didn't start well with a 20 minute tantrum about a bowl of multigrain hoops cereal. I'm not sure now whether it was me or Brown Bear who was having the tantrum, but it was not pleasant. Honestly how did I go from being a woman with a career who would chair meetings, address conferences, facilitate training and host events to this screeching harpie. I am pretty sure my son isn't interested in feeding the poor and hungry despite my guilt inducing reminders that there are children with no food at all.

The other day he headbutted the wheelie bin before school. Not deliberately. It wasn't like an ambition or a dare. He was ignoring me when I asked him to wait for me to lock the front door and managed to bang his head which resulted in a meltdown and claims that I clearly don't care becuase I didn't check he was ok. He would not accept my assertion that he was fine because a) there was no blood, b) he was still screaming so his voice was fine and c) he was walking alongside me while chastising me for my substandard parenting.

Bleu Bear on the other hand has different issues. This afternoon I picked him up a few minutes early from pre-school for his swimming lesson. I handed him the lunchbox with a sandwich I'd made for his lunch and he looked inside. While I tried to sort out a matter on the phone he was shouting at me and eventually I realised he was saying, "No mummy not a cheese sandwich, I want a ham sandwich." I did admit I'd got it wrong and that I would make the correct sandwich when we got home, but for now could he eat what I had made for him.

Honestly being with these guys is such demanding work. If it's not mind reading what they want to eat it's micromanaging them Madonna style. I would wear a pointed bra, but it might just send out the wrong message.

At least at the weekends I can share the load with Hubbie and we have a better odds when we even out into two groups of two. Neo does take the kids' side, but he's pretty much bought by a packet of cat biscuits so his loyalty is questionable.

The countdown is on until the Summer holidays. I'm going to get myself a Wonder Woman outfit and be done with it.


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