The Unsung Mum and the Halloween Howler

It’s Saturday afternoon and The Spratts are trying on their Halloween costumes for a friend’s Halloween party later on. The Unsung Mum is weirdly chirpy today, and can’t wait to see her little cherubs in their delightful costumes.

Nothing will break her happy mood. Not even when The Kid changes her mind 34567 times over which costume to wear.

The Unsung Mum is not deterred, though. How hard could it be to find a princess ninja spaceman suit?

Grabbing her trusted phone, she starts to google like a fucking maniac on heat, hoping beyond hope that a local shop might still have a few costumes left on Halloween eve eve. While her little darlings are playing quietly, she frantically opens and shuts the front door hoping that Poundland has mysteriously moved next door to her house.

Crap, it hasn’t.

While making a wholesome lunch for her sweethearts, she overhears them playing together and thinks what lovely children she is raising.

‘Right,’ she thinks. ‘I must look harder.’

While The Spratts sit down and eat ALL their lunch, The Unsung Mum quickly scurries through Pinterest and finds some really great ideas from other top mums.

Here we are, a homemade spaceman princess ninja suit. No, wait a second, that’s a fetish site, how the hell did she get there?

Anyway, after lunch and no more mentions of the blasted princess ninja spaceman suit, The Unsung Mum breathes deeply and risks a quick sit down on the sofa.

Lovely.

The Unsung Mum would really like to tell The Kid to fuck off and just wear the fairy costume that she screamed blue murder for last week, but as an aspiring middle class woman who is told daily that her kids should be her whole life, she smiles satanically sweetly, and lightly informs The Kid that she is trying to track this princess ninja spaceman suit down.

Fine. Time for another web search, this time via Ebay to see if there’s anyone local sellers selling anything like a princess ninja spaceman suit in size 4-5.

There isn’t.

She widens the search to thirty miles from home.

Crap. Still nothing.

After five minutes, The Spratts get bored and decide to thank The Unsung Mum for all her hard google searching by using her make-up as crayons, and draw all over the newly painted hallway walls. Just for fun!

It’s now just an hour before the party and The Unsung Mum is getting desperate but tries to remain calm.  She even considers trolling the local Facebay or baby selling groups for anything resembling a princess, ninja or spaceman but quickly dismisses it. Her eldest daughter is the apple of her eye, an angel, she will, of course, understand that mummy can’t find a princess ninja spaceman outfit.

Bollocks.

The Hub would love to help of course, but he is busy playing stupid ass games on his phone doing important work stuff but still has time to pop his head upstairs and ask what all the noise is about.

The Unsung Mum knows they don’t mean it, though, and that all will be forgotten with a nice family hug.

“I love my life.” The Unsung Mum whispers over and over again while she paces the hallway, staring at the now off-white walls and wondering what the fuck she is going to do.

But it’s ok because Daddy extraordinaire has a very exciting announcement to make.

Right. The back-up is now dead.

With just half an hour to go The Unsung Mum is getting desperate.

To John Lewis she declares!

They have everything right? The pinnacle of middle-classness. But wait. Isn’t going to John Lewis with The Spratts just swapping your own untidy house, for a much bigger one that frowns on small children jumping on the beds or pissing in the pretend bathrooms.

Who cares! A childhood is at stake here!

 

Everything is fine. Just fine.

She’s started to feel a bit on edge but has an idea.

At home, she chucks The Spratts two chocolate bars and her phone and sprints round the house.

Carefully to bundle her two most precious pieces of cargo into the car, she drives to Betsy’s house calming and very safely.

The Unsung Mum gets The Spratts dressed on the doorstep then rings the doorbell, with a hysterically large smile on her face.

She made it. She is exhausted but thankful of course.

Fuck me.

The Unsung Mum just stands there and looks around. She’s trying to think of something really polite to say but just can’t find the words right now.

No more Mrs. Nice Mummy.

Don’t mess with Mrs. Nice Mummy. Ever!

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