Tag Archives: motherhood

On saying the sweetest things

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Bedtime isn’t my favourite part of the day. I’m talking about the children’s bedtime obviously. My own is something I look forward to. The boys’ bedtime, on the other hand, can feel like a round of whack-a-frog – the little toads keep popping up, I cajole them back into bed (without a mallet), then someone randomly springs up again, just as my triumphant lap of honour (walking downstairs to a child-free sofa) is in sight.

But they do say the sweetest things, and that goes a long way towards making up for all the rowdy, mischievous bedtime antics.

Whack-a-frog (bedtime)

Whack-a-frog (bedtime)

“You’re the best mummy in the world,” Son1 told me this evening as I kissed him goodnight.

“Why’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious (because I know I’m far from it). I wondered if he was thinking about the fact that this afternoon I’d left work early and rushed home to take them to their after-school sports activity; waited 2.5 hours (not reading a good book, but listening to whines about hunger, boredom, etc, due to their lessons being at different times); then drilled Son1 on his spellings, and watched at least 10 minutes of YouTube drivel with him while being elbowed and kicked by fidgety Son2.

Or maybe it was down to all the reading we’re doing at the moment. My children seem to have zero interest in reading, until it comes to bedtime, when I’m held hostage for up to 45 minutes (Son2 doesn’t pick the most suitable book, he chooses the longest). Or could I be the best mummy because I’ve just invited 15 boys (help!) to Son1’s birthday party this month.

There’s a pause. Son1 considers my question. “Why is she the best mummy?” he’s thinking. Tricky question.

“I’ve absolutely no idea,” he replies, totally deadpan.

A mother’s illusion

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“Mummy, when you went to the hospital to be chopped up, did they have a party?”

It was a question I wasn’t expecting to hear from my youngest son. I knew what he was referring to – my surgery last week, but good Lord, what on earth did he think had happened? Some kind of ultimate mummy sacrifice?

On the day, they didn’t even know where I was going. I think they just thought I was at work a long time.

But, of course, when I got home, we had to explain why they couldn’t jump on me; why I had a ‘big ouch’ that hurt and why I couldn’t carry LB or even do bear hugs.

“A party?” I responded. “Erm, no, it wasn’t a party LB.”

“Oh.” [looks disappointed]. “But wasn’t there a wabbit? A white one?”

And for my next trick, mum will pull a white rabbit out of a hat

For my next trick, mum will pull a rabbit out of a hat

“There was no rabbit, just the doctors, and nurses – rabbits aren’t allowed. Sorry darling.”

“But they chopped you in half, didn’t they?” [makes sawing motion].

And the penny dropped: he thought I was the (glamorous? ha!) female assistant in a magic show, the lady who gets put in a box and apparently sawn in half.

The one who might just look like she’s playing a supporting role to the magician, but is, in fact, making the mechanics of the illusion work.

And, actually, come to think of it, that IS exactly how I feel in my role as mother much of the time. Thanks LB, you hit the nail on the head!

Silent Sunday: So what do you DO all day?

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Ask any stay-at-home mother this question at your peril! My experience of SAHM-hood was a challenge, and certainly jam-packed with chores, errands, running the household and, the part that makes it all worthwhile, spreading the love around.

So I really laughed when my friend K, a fellow pilot’s wife, showed us her five-year-old’s adorable drawings, depicting what she thinks her mom and dad do all day.

So I really laughed when my friend K, a fellow pilot’s wife, showed us her five-year-old’s adorable drawings, depicting what she thinks her mom and dad do all day.

In the 5 minutes between school runs, grocery shopping, food prep, organising maintenance, yelling at the bank, parents’ meetings maybe!

In the 5 minutes between school runs, grocery shopping, food prep, organising maintenance, yelling at the bank and parents’ meetings, maybe!

Parents are JUST like rock stars

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I saw this on Facebook today and thought I’d share it here as suddenly assuming rock-star status has done wonders for my evening. Enjoy!

How being a parent is like being a rock star:

The eye bags add to the up-all-night rock-star look

The eye bags add to the up-all-night rock-star look

– Endless hours on the road with too many people in the vehicle

– Your job is to entertain a room full of loud, writhing maniacs

– If you do your job well, people ask you when you’ll produce more

– You ask yourself daily: “Am I tripping? Or did I really just see that?”

– Your name is always shouted, never spoken

– Someone is always pulling at your clothes

– Groupies follow you to the bathroom

– There’s a different person in your bed every night. Sometimes even two

– At the end of your work day, you’re sweaty and your hair is a mess

– Screaming is just part of the job

Thank you to Kim at letmestartbysayingblog.com, who wrote this and whose blog I’ve just discovered.