This morning was shit. I mean really shit. Unbelievable shit. The sort of shit that messes with your head and makes you lose your shit…The sort of shit that makes you want to weep. Double shit, shit on toast! Shit down your fingernails that you can’t get out, type shit.
All three of my darling little shits are so unbelievably overtired that they embarked on a competition to become the worst behaved child in England. My eldest wiped the dog’s eye bogey on my youngest child’s hair and laughed until he punched her. This wasn’t even the low point of the morning. My middle child decided that he would pretend that he didn’t understand the English language and when asked to help unload the dishwasher, claimed that he couldn’t because he didn’t know which button to push.
“No you are correct, there isn’t a fucking unload button but I’ll suggest to the manufacturers that they make a magic button that puts all the cutlery, crockery and pans away!”
When Bella had made Ted cry, I tried to cheer him up by whispering that his sister could be a bit of a “bitch” sometimes.
It cheered him up so much that he ran around chanting “BITCH BITCH BITCH” for five minutes whilst I closed all the windows in the house for fear that one of the neighbours would hear.
“And don’t think that because we are late, I’m going to bail you out and drive you to school because that’s shit parenting” I threatened whilst unlocking the car.
“That won’t teach you anything about real life!”
Unfortunately, due to unforeseen traffic, we were late for school anyway and I arrived at school with not one or two but three crying children. I’d not quite meant for them to arrive at school sobbing but due to unforeseen words that came out of my mouth, arrive sobbing they did.
All that I’d threatened was that I’d get a full time job and make them go to school breakfast clubs and the after school club until 6.00 so that they’d realise how lucky they really are.
They didn’t see the funny side of my empty threats.
Ted told me that he was going to kill himself when he got home from school. I suggested that this was a tad melodramatic and conceded that it must be shit having a shit mum that says shit stuff.
Some days are shit.
Sometimes I’m a really shit mum.
Sometimes the little shits really live up to their names.
“Fuck this shit Trevor” I said to the dog “I’m off for a run!”
I cheered myself up with my new Rew top, Marks&Spensive bargain trousers that I promptly got filthy and Zara sale boots.