This is Mum.
Some days, Mum feels like she might be just about keeping on top of things.
And some days… Mum does not.
This is Mum.
Some days, Mum feels like she might be just about keeping on top of things.
And some days… Mum does not.
I saw you today.
You didn’t see me. You didn’t know I watched you as I passed you by.
But I saw you. More than that: I felt you.
Because I’ve been you.
#1 Weekend mornings will never be as good as the weekend mornings when you’re seven years old and you sit in front of the TV watching cartoons until noon.
I woke up in the early hours of this morning to hear the rain gently pouring down outside the window, tapping windows and leaves wherever it fell.
It seemed apt, because exactly twelve years ago today, I also woke up in the early hours of the morning to hear the rain gently pouring down.
So, last night found us back in A&E with Beth, who is fast turning out to be my most accident prone child. Quite a feat, when you consider her brother once managed to put his teeth through his lower lip… by falling over his own feet.
Parents, if you do nothing else, please: let your children be themselves.
I honestly believe that it is one of the greatest gifts we can give our children. That it is okay to be different. That it is okay not to conform. That it is okay not to be what society tells us to be.
One of the reasons I started writing this blog, way way back in the mists of 2009, when Jamie was two…was because I found parenting really really fucking difficult.
Today I have woken up feeling angry because of something I read on the internet yesterday. The internet is a marvellous place to go if you want to snap out of your perfectly happy mood and get really really pissed off instead.
The thing that I read basically said that, if you are a parent, you should shut the fuck up whinging and basically marvel and appreciate every single fucking second of the marvellous gift which has been bestowed upon you.
Well excuse me while I dare to have an emotion about having children other than joy, wonder or grateful thanks.
Yesterday, when I picked Beth up from after school club, I had an accident form to sign for her. She’d been hit in the eye by a ball which one of the other kids had thrown.
“We knew she’d been properly hurt,” said one of the ladies who runs after school club, “because she cried. And Beth never cries.”
This morning we took a taxi.
I am not going to lie. This morning did not get off to the most auspicious of starts. Mr IKINTST and I were treated to the most incredible meal last night at the restaurant our friend runs in London. (www.themodernpantry.co.uk if you want to experience some of the most incredible food I have ever eaten, all served in the most beautiful, laid back surroundings.)
Both the food and the wine (and the champagne, and the cocktails…) flowed generously. So generously that, as I finally staggered into bed at 1am, it occurred to me that the 8am wake-up call to get Beth to her early morning football match was going to be extremely difficult indeed.
(NB, to anyone who has ever wondered if standing in the freezing cold watching your small child play football is a good hangover cure, I can tell you that: no, this is most definitely not the case.)