It’s become known as the day I thought they’d finally turn on me, that my own children would want to stab me in the eye with their overpriced, scented Smiggle pencils. T’was the first Saturday of the Christmas holidays, which may explain my naive, fuzzy optimism getting out of hand, however, ‘shouty mummy’ had already reared her scary head and unleashed the fury of a thousand toddlers denied “choc-choc”! I’d heard enough shouting “replenish my health” down headsets/into the next room/to the brother sitting 67cm away to last me a parental life time (thankfully shorter than the average due to Xbox induced stress levels and general sleep deprivation – there’s 3 parental years to the standard singleton year!); been told “…but I’m in a game!” like it was the answer to every possible request I could make of my children and seen the cherubic faces of my offspring for a whole 13.5 minutes (while they scoffed vital food supplies) in an 8 hour period.View Post
I think it happened somewhere between the episiotomy and the endless sleepless nights, a seismic shift in my pleasure receptors and what I consider a reward. Once upon a time I took great pleasure in travelling, new shoes, finding the right shade of lip gloss with a zero hair-stick factor – I’m not saying these things no longer give me pleasure, but these days they are considered more of a luxury. After having children, the little time vampires have an effect on how you view menial tasks; perhaps it’s because prior to the little second-suckers entering our lives we would freely roam super markets, taking minutes deliberating over which fresh juice one might prefer to sup in peace on a lazy Sunday morning, or leisurely separate, not only lights from darks but, silks from wool as we generously applied a suitable washing solution based on the fabric composition.
But not only do I dream fantasise of a trip to Waitrose (sod it, I’d be just as thrilled with a Lidl these days) on my own, for at least an hour, without having to separate what looks like Tyson Vs Holyfield in the bakery dept as my 7 & 8 yr old go hell for leather for the third time whilst childless twenty-somethings gawk in disbelief, but I find myself ranking household chores into things I must do first before I’m allowed to move on to the more “fun” tasks.View Post