WE’VE ALL been in that place where we tell an outright lie to our child because it makes things easier for us. Assuring it won’t hurt because he will refuse to get in the car for his blood test otherwise. Telling him another chocolate will make him sick. Deciding eating the crusts on his sandwich will ensure good chest hair growth. Although why anyone would want their small child to have chest hair is beyond me.
The list goes on.
With four hardy bucks wrecking my house and threatening my sanity I’ve been known to commit a few Bad Mothering Moments myself.
This would be the next instalment.
Our boys never had a shortage of toys to play with. I say “had” because for the last year I have been operating a seek, find and destroy mission. I bin stuff on a regular basis. Not a day goes by where the dustbin doesn’t get fed a broken car or a pile of magazines.
One of them was given empty beer bottles and a pile of stones to play with. Kept him busy for ages, popping the stones into it.
Once upon a time there was a very very cross baby and a very very extremely tired mother. That baby slept in his buggy at his mother’s side of the bed for the best part of a month where he could be rocked to sleep when he woke approximately every 57 minutes.
I may or may not have made fake phone calls to the neighbours asking them to take the kids off my hands for a couple of hours.
There have been plenty of times where I opened the fridge at 5pm to gaze desperately at the beer. The only thing stopping me necking one is I need to be in a reasonably sober state in case the need to drive somewhere in a hurry rears its ugly head.
I have often been caught in a terrifying vortex where I think, fear and believe with all of my heart that my boys are obnoxious, screaming individuals and I am trapped in an episode of Malcom in the Middle.
Pillows are for sleeping on you say? I like to scream into one as loudly as I can. If a tree falls in a forest does anyone hear it?
No-one can ever accuse me of never slamming the cupboard door as hard as possible to release tension and frustration. Ditto with a plate and a saucer off the draining board.
I once told my thieving child that the blueberries in my gorgeous breakfast muffin were dead flies and spider parts.
I managed to convince them the carrots on their plate are a new breed called “tasteless carrots”; containing all the nutrients of the regular kind but have no taste.
After months of them being ignored I threw out the loom bands. Three whole months later when one of them found a rogue bracelet in the school car park he wanted to loom again. I did the only thing I could; lie. Shamelessly and unabashedly. I told him I don’t know where they were and did he check his bedroom? Or the car? What about the toy box? No? Not in any of those places? I don’t know where they are so.
This is not a definitive list but it’ll do for now.