So the six-week holiday is almost upon us! Like all wholesome middle-class families, we’re frantically trying to think of ways to keep our brood amused for seven and a half weeks. God only knows why it’s called the “six weeks holiday” but there you go?!
Anyway, you may have visions of spending hot summer days at the beach with your little pumpkins lovingly playing in the sand together, while you sip on your Prosecco ice lolly in peace, quiet and tranquilly, or have dreams of the kids not twating each other over the head every thirty seconds and needing your presence just to breath.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I’m the first to admit I don’t look old. Hell, I’m still doing what I did when I was 21, but with two kids in two.
I still say the word “cool” and listen to Radio One (sometimes on low volume) and feel like I’m down with the kids.
In till recently when I a teen offered to carry my Asda bags to the car as the kids were kicking off and called me ma’am, and you know you’re old when not even the old dears ask you for ID on a Tuesday night for your favourite bottle of Pinot.
On a bad day, I start to see all those white hairs on my vag or a slight balding spot on my scalp. I can recommend NOT Googling vaginal dye by the way.
For once, I’m going to be super helpful and share with you some of my very own top tips on how to be the very best parent ever! If you already feel that the carefully constructed felt tip pen drawings on your newly painted hallway walls really offer something extra to the room, then I’m sorry, this post isn’t for you. Fuck off.
Now I have two sprogs, the humble baby group is like mecca to me, I generally couldn’t live without them.
They’re cheap, not at my house and you get drinks and biscuits thrown in. What’s not to like?!
Yes, of course, like anything there are a few potholes in this plan. One being that you normally have to make really awkward small talk to a bunch of people you’ve never met, and keep a smile plastered on your face, even though Little Jimmy is screaming he wants to go home at the top of his lungs. To be honest, I don’t mind a bit of small talk. After all, small talk or not, it’s still an actual conversation with an adult, which is normally better than debating with my four-year-old on why I’m such a poo poo face, for the millionth time.
As most of you are probably aware by now, my kids are pretty crap picky eaters. That’s right. As a mother I have failed to make vegetables fun and fruit smoothies that actually taste good. So it won’t surprise you to find out that The Kid won’t eat any vegetables and only eats bananas, pears and apples.
So when The Baby came along, I lived in hope that the allotted fruit and vegetable gene distribution would be kinder to me this time and start dishing out some love. No such luck.
Whoop! The day has finally arrived. You know the one right? This one event that you’ve been planning for months along with the other 6785 parent bloggers who have paid to attend.
That’s right. It’s Blogfest16 baby!
Well, today is the day and everyone who’s anyone can attend.
Wait. Is that Bridie on the phone?
Never mind girls. Who ever said three’s a crowd probably wasn’t a mum anyway.
If you’ve watched the news recently (and let’s be honest, you’ve probably got time for such leisure because you don’t have kids) then you’ll know that there is a serious epidemic of Tutters Lip currently spreading across the UK.
Myths and conspiracies include:
The primary trigger point for Tutters Lip is the everyday child. The disease is thought to have started in nice cafes and trendy bistros in the capital where parents are preoccupied with life and temporarily unable to dispense disciplinary tactics. A high number of incidents have been reported where patients have been trying to enjoy a peaceful cup of tea, attempting to run the Waitrose gauntlet avoiding buggy lash, or innocently waiting for the local bus.
Unfortunate symptoms may include emitting a devil stare to the perpetrating child, uncontrollable eye rolling towards the parent, and the blurting of heinous clichés to sleep deprived members of society.
If the media are to be believed, then there are only two types of mum is this world.
Yummy Mummy likes to look rad, cook organic food and have her kids in a very strict routine. Slummy Mummy is a bit of a rebel. Slummy Mummy swears openly, drinks like a fish and reads her phone while her kids are running riot at baby group.
Yummy and Slummy are so opposite, that they sit outside of each other’s houses with pitchforks and mean banners to try and put each other off. (Not really.)
But what happened to Middling Mummy? You know the one. Middling Mummy who openly admits that she doesn’t bath her kids every night and lets them get away with having an extra biscuit at bedtime.
Middling Mum who loves the fucking bones off her kids, even when they call Granny Dotty “poo poo face” and ask why she smells of cabbage.
First off, that title is whack, as it’s not really six weeks, is it? It’s bloody eight weeks, taking into account all the shitting insert days and half days.
Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had a blast and I’ve been mega lucky to have had The Hub home for two of those eight weeks. We weren’t brave enough to go away (I’m not suicidal) but we did some good old day trips while each taking it in turns to cross off a day on the calendar. September will come damn it!
Anyway, I just thought I’d give you a heads up on some of the things I’ve learned during my first kid infested six-week headache holiday….
1. By day four, you’re begging preschool to reopen.
2. You’ll roll your eyes more times than you blink.
3. And argue over who packs the car just to get out of watching The Kid take her third dump of the day.
4. Packing for a trip to the international space station for six months would be easier than packing for a day out with toddlers.
This is Twatty McTroll Face.
Twatty McTroll Face dwells in the dark world of mothers’ groups.Instead of carrying a wooden mallet, she has a bucket of shit, that she’ll throw at you when you’re at your lowest. Which, let’s be honest, is quite a lot.
Twatty McTroll Face’s main purpose in life is to make you feel as crap about yourself as possible. If you’re not into baby led weaning or don’t bother wearing a bra on the school run, then, whoo, you better watch out! She’s so clever that she starts to make you question your very sanity, and before you know it will have you questioning if you’re eating organic enough or if you really are killing the world by using disposable nappies. (You aren’t.)