*Can I start by saying, I love the Bratlings, really I do, they are the light of life, the centre of my darn universe, yada yada yada. *
Next Wednesday, our house will become gleefully quiet for the first time in seven weeks.
I say gleefully, and now some of you Mums reading will scrape yourselves off the floor at the use of that adjective rather than “sadly”. However, in my house, its a happy occasion for us all.
Seven weeks is too damn long if you ask me.
The thing is, our holiday, despite us not actually going away during the seven weeks, has served to:
- Obliterate mine and Elder’s bank balances, including the joint account
- Turn my hair ever greyer
- Render me deaf
- Push me to the point of nervous breakdown
- Mean my daughter and I are arguing more and more about her behaviour
Oh, my God. In small doses, say when they come home from school/nursery, its nice. There is a small amount of tidying, less arguments between “Gobby” (or Mini as she was previously known) and me, and it makes for a relaxed atmosphere. They are happy as they have seen their mates and been entertained all day. They aren’t constantly after magazines, or pens, or ice creams and sweets. Its a very zen environment (ahem).
|“Look Mummy has at least £1 in her purse, lets moan for sweets til she gives in”
In the holidays, they wake up at 8am, and from that moment on, all I hear is arguments over what to watch (and no hope of me watching the news or they tag team me and gang up), choruses of “I’m bored” or “I miss my friends” or worse still “can I have”. They eat breakfast at 8.15, yet by ten are asking if it’s lunchtime yet as they are “actually starving” (as said by Mini in that drawn out effort filled way kids have).
You suggest a walk to town and it’s almost as if their legs have fallen off, such is the disgust at the very idea of putting one leg in front of the other and looking in shops. And don’t even ask me about going food shopping. That was like a diplomatic incident that was. We gave up, and I had to send Elder off in search of food on his own (exactly- I was desperate).
The problem was that Asda happened to have a Bieber poster and frame in the section we were in (collecting Mini’s new school coat), and Mini went mental when I said I wasn’t shelling out £25 for a picture of this chimp faced tit. Which she didn’t appreciate, and made clear by crying and wailing.
The holidays have been OK- mainly when they went off with their Aunt to her seaside house and left us in blissful peace for 3 days. The little vein on Elders forehead even stopped throbbing, and it felt like a snapshot of our pre-parenting days. Until they came back and went feral with boredom again.
We tried soft play this week for Littlest’s fourth birthday, after the water balloon and super soaker fight I had planned was beggared up by the weather turning arctic. Except, whilst Mini loved it and raced around with untold happiness, throwing herself in and out of ball pits and down slides, Littlest got to the second (not very high) tier and screamed like a girl. Earsplitting screams at that. Even Jaffa Cakes couldn’t calm him, so we went home and sat in doors willing the rain to stop and feeding the children consolation prize food as a treat.
Seven weeks of moaning, grumbling and epic fails. No wonder Mini cut her hair off, at least it stopped the boredom for a few hours. Although I’d preferred a different kind of distraction, obviously.
I’m starting to see why Mum’s buy games consoles. At least if they are preoccupied pressing a button or dancing in front of a screen, they can’t moan about being hungry, bored, or start shouting how they think you suck.
Make me Prime Minister and my top priority will be a week off at the end of each month. Much more manageable if you ask me than seven all at once.
What do you think? Will you be tearful next week, or will you be dancing a silent, but guilty, jig?