The Many Mysteries of Motherhood

The Bratlings





I have been a Mum now for nearly 5 years (Mini turns 5 on Tuesday would you believe), and, over time, there are certain mysteries that have made themselves known about The Bratlings, which baffle me.


Here are just a few:


Why do they pay no attention to me, yet Justin/Mr Tumble is God Like?


What the hell has this jolly fellow got that I don’t? He doesn’t hand out sweets. He doesn’t cuddle them when they are sick or bored or wake up in the night wanting a hug. He doesn’t buy them gifts on their birthdays or at Christmas. Yet the merest hint of one his annoyingly catchy theme tunes, and that’s the end of noise, fights, whining, the lot.


This morning, I had just finished my bath and was drowning the noise out of them arguing using the hair dryer and both the Brats were engaged in a mass sofa based fight over the red and white slanket. This is always a source of weekend spats with them, purely because, despite it being big enough for two adults, they cannot seem to share it. It doesn’t help that Littlest is still sucking the corners of any blanket, sheet or duvet he can, so Mini refuses to have any part that is slightly damp (and who can blame her).

Mr Tumble: Too Smiley for my liking. The Git.

This was going on for some 5 minutes, with Elder popping his head from the kitchen doorway to tell them to stop. Queue the theme tune to Justin’s House, and silence. Mid slap in Mini’s case, and mid slanket tug in Littlest’s. Then they sat, in rapt attention, to everything Justin happened to utter. The only occasional noise was Mini explaining to Littlest what Justin was doing and why it was funny.


Now it’s gone off, they are back scrapping again- its like the last programme was never on.


Its making me despise but respect Justin’s authority in equal measures.


Why do they always immediately wake me up, yet leave Elder to sleep?


This comes after a week of Easter holidays, when, by rights of having a later night, both the Bratlings should sleep later. Except in our house, the later they go to bed, the earlier they wake up. Go figure.


Anyway, I wouldn’t mind, as by now they should, what with the umpteen toys they have in their rooms, be able to amuse themselves for a while, allowing me some much needed doze time (not full sleep, I can’t be properly asleep when they are awake, its an inbuilt Mum thing I feel).

This does not happen often. Littlest, asleep, presumably after Slanket War #12000



Sadly, the Bratlings don’t seem to want to just amuse themselves. Which leads to, in the case of this week, Mini coming into our bedroom, and slapping my face until I grumble and get up. Or grumble and kick Elder- either/or.


I get up most mornings at 6am, and run around the house getting them ready for school and nursery, making pancakes with chocolate spread, getting cereal ‘cos Mini has decided she’s “gone off pancakes today,” finding lost books or shoes, or both, signing forms, sewing red or blue cotton into the toes of socks or tights or Mini puts her shoes on the wrong feet and her teacher never notices, brushing hair into tighter than necessary pigtails (Mini) or chasing round the living room wielding the brush to give random strokes to hair (Littlest), and then, at 9.30am, once both are dispatched up the hill and into classrooms, I sit down with a hot cuppa and some breakfast. So on days or weeks off, I don’t want to be up before 7.30am, or, if at all before 10am (wishful thinking).


Despite the kick or dig to Elder (blissfully slap free, only able to hear in the ear he lies on) being successful, by now I’m completely awake, and give up trying to go back to sleep within about half hour of the brood going downstairs.


I’m starting to think he bribes them.


Why does it take just 20 minutes for Littlest to be skankier than when he went in the bath?


My son is a dirt magnet. He can get out of a bath, he can be dried and dressed in clean clothing, yet I will go and do another chore, or get Mini dressed and dry her hair (takes ages as its so long now), and I can guarantee that he’ll be dirty again. His face is the worst, he always looks slightly dishevelled, even if I have just taken a wipe and a brush to him. 


I don’t know why I bother.


Why do daft, shouldn’t match patterns look cool when Mini puts them together?

Planning her next “Look” no doubt.

If I dressed even half as insanely as my daughter does, I’d be carted off to the funny farm. But when Mini does it, it works so well. 


On Friday, we popped out for lunch, and I had got her some jeans and a light jumper out. So far, so normal. Except whilst I went to get myself dressed, she decided that she didn’t quite fancy wearing that, and, with help from her Uncle as inside out sorter outer, she dressed herself in what can only be described as an “interesting” ensemble. 
She put on a white longer length top, stripy tights, a pink cord ra ra style skirt, a multi coloured stripy hoodie, and a pink heart pattern gilet. She finished it off with pink converse.


I took one look and told her there was no way she was going out dressed in so many different colours and patterns, but was over ruled by her moaning and her Dad deciding she looked cute. In fact, Elder’s current stance is that she should be allowed to express herself more. Even if she does go out looking like Co Co the Clown.


Off we went to town, and the amount of cooing she got from passers by was ridiculous. She did look cute. Why does it work when you’re 4? If I did it, or anyone else over 18 did it, we’d be in Heats Hoop of Horror in five minutes. 


What are your parenting mysteries? Let me know!

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