Tag Archives: Parenting

Fibs

Let’s face it, we all tell a little fib now and again don’t we?

Sometimes because we can’t face going into deep explanations, sometimes so that we don’t hurt someone and sometimes to save face.

Like the times we’ve told a friend that their butt really doesn’t look big in those jeans that they just spent a fortune on and obviously really love. And the time when we forgot someone’s Birthday and happened to leave the card at home that we haven’t actually bought yet. And the time when we hadn’t really double booked and couldn’t go out with a friend we just wanted to get our bras off, get into our PJs and watch crap on the telly.

(All my friends are reading this and crossing me off their Christmas lists, Birthday lists and possibly deleting me from Facebook as we speak. Oops sorry, I do love you all honestly and these are just examples I promise!)

And then there are the whoppers that we tell our children.

When I was little my Dad told me that a twat was a female fish when I asked him what it meant. Thanks Dad.

My Poppa told me that a haggis was a wild creature that lived in Scotland in the mountains. He also told me because it ran round and around the mountains the legs on one side of it’s body were shorter than the other so that it didn’t topple off. I totally believed him because he was my Poppa and I told all my friends.

One of my children’s teachers said that if you whistle inside a building your ears will eventually fall off. I use that one a lot. Genius. There must be one for recorders too?

And then there is Father Christmas. I mean really? We are teaching our children not to lie and every year we drag out the massive big fat white-bearded man clad in fur trimmed red. We can dress it up as Christmas spirit and how it all adds to the enchantment of childhood and so on but let’s not mess about here – one day our kids are going to know that Mummy and Daddy told them a big fat fib. I am not sure where to go with that. I remember my friend telling me that her son had come home from school saying that some of the boys had told him that Father Christmas wasn’t real. I held my breath knowing that one day this was going to be me. She had one of the best comebacks that I have heard and said “Oh. That’s a shame that they don’t believe anymore. They won’t get as many presents.” Her son decided to hedge his bets and keep on believing for a bit. Wise boy and smart Mum!

I still don’t know how I honestly feel about it all though. Part of me thinks “oh shut up everyone does it what are you wibbling on about” and then there’s the other part that shouted at her daughter twice this week for not being honest.

Let me elaborate. Earlier this week I noticed after school that my youngest had a very neat wiggly scribble on the back of his neck on the collar of his brand new school shirt. I had in fact sat lovingly sewing in his name label that morning at breakfast. I questioned him about it knowing that he can be a little sod and has a previous record of drawing on things that are not paper:

Boy “Mummy, I can’t reach the back of my collar can I and anyway it was my sister”

Girl (red faced and shrieking) “It was not me I would NEVER do that I did not draw on his collar!!”

Boy “She did!!! She did Mummy I am not lying!!”

Me “Beloved daughter. Did you draw on his collar? He can’t have done it because he can’t reach so someone else has done it and it wasn’t there when we got home. I didn’t do it, Daddy isn’t here and you are the only other person in the house. Apart from the cats and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t them.” Eat your heart out Miss Marple.

Girl “NO MUMMY WHY DON’T YOU BELIEVE ME I DIDN’T DOOOOO ITTTTTT!!!”

She is a terrible liar and I hope that she never plays poker when she is older.

Me “I know you did it because you are a rubbish liar and I can tell. I have asked you twice now and I am giving you the chance to tell me the truth”

Girl “I didn’t do it I didn’t and oh I didn’t there was a pen……it was in my hand…..I didn’t do it though…..then I wanted to hug my brother……..it was an accident.”

See what she did there? Snuck in a hug. Because obviously that makes it all peachy.

Me “So you did do it. Why didn’t you tell me the truth straight away?”

Girl “Because then I would get in trouble”

Me “But now you are in even more trouble because you lied. That’s worse. Plus you still are telling me a massive whopper because that is not an accidental-I-was-holding-a-pen-in-my-hand scribble. It is a perfectly neat zigzag.”

Cue massive meltdown, sobbing and running to her room slamming doors.

Sometimes I really am shit at parenting and have no bloody idea how to handle this stuff. She did it again yesterday when she suddenly announced “Ooh look Mummy I have a shorter bit of hair at the front sort of like a fringe, I don’t know how that happened?”. So I asked her “Did you cut your hair?” to which she replied “Noooooo Mummy I would never cut my hair”. And off we go again. I asked her 6 times and each time she denied it. I really had to go on at her and eventually she gave in and admitted another accident. We went to homework club afterwards at the local cafe and her friend said “She cut her hair in humanities!”. Gotcha!!

So is this a phase? A developmental stage? Or is it happening….she is beginning to enter the very grey area known as ‘becoming an adult’ where sometimes it is okay to tell a little white lie and sometimes……it really is absolutely not. I don’t know if I am well enough equipped to help her with this. I seem to be shouting a lot and then talking rationally, explaining that it is really important to tell the truth but this approach doesn’t seem to be working….

And it’s nearly Christmas…..

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Confessions…..

I made a mental note a while ago to write about confessions. I felt I needed to ‘fess up’ about some stuff in a light hearted jovial way which might prompt you all to join in if you felt the need. Nothing too heavy I thought, I’ve been getting a bit deep and meaningful of late. Of course my mind then spiralled into all sorts as it inevitably does, it would appear that I am just made that way however I will try…..

I am scared of the dark. Yup I am 40 years old and I am scared of the dark. Like, turning the light off and dive bombing into bed when my husband is away with work (because we all know the duvet has a special built in forcefield that will protect us from all kinds of nasty) kind of scared.

Too scared to drive in the dark unless I absolutely have no choice and can talk to someone on the phone car kit all the way. Mainly my fault because I watched THAT episode of CSI with the super bendy black latex gimp suit wearing serial killer who hid in the spare wheel well in his victims boot and then freakishly climbed out and murdered the poor woman whilst she was in the car wash. I really wish I hadn’t watched that. I check the boot before I get in, frequently.

I am scared of driving on Motorways. After years of procrastination I learnt to drive and finally passed my test on my daughter’s 1st birthday in October 2008. It was a seminal moment in my life – freedom at last – and I imagined all the adventures we would go on together. It seems however that I am a bit of a scaredy cat in the motorway department plus I am scared of the dark – did I mention that? I can do it in good light and minimal traffic if I am feeling 100%. Perish the day when I’m not and an emergency means I have to down a bottle of Rescue Remedy and hit the road. I will need therapy afterwards.

I am scared of getting lost. A lovely friend once told me that there was very little unchartered territory in the UK so provided I had a map or could ask someone I should be okay. I like her optimism. I have zero sense of direction and rely way too heavily on my sat nav which also appears to have a diminished sense of direction and very strange ideas of sensible routes. My husband says it’s rubbish and ancient which makes me love it all the more. It is a bit wonky like me. You know those tales parents tell of heart in mouth moments when they’ve lost their precious child for a split second or worse, longer? I asked my Dad once about that he replied “I never lost you ever, you were never out of my sight.” Interesting – is there a correlation there I wonder?  Or does he have a selective memory? Or did Mum just never tell him? I lost one of my kids in the house the other day – for a good 5 minutes (it felt like about 15). He was hiding in the wardrobe pooping in his pants. Special. This is also a blog for another day…..ah Encopresis you old fucker leave my poor boy alone.

So, talking of parenthood here comes the BIGGY of all confessions – I can’t help but feel that is the perfect word to use due to the title of my blog as I think of another equally lovely friend who told me her kids call doing a poo a biggy. I love it….

Sometimes (by which I mean much more than once a day) I think I shouldn’t have had children. Not because they aren’t completely awesome little people who light up my life as well as covering it in dollops but because I am not naturally maternal. I mean, I literally cheer when I drop the little darlings back at school after the holidays and sometimes do backflips just because it’s Monday. I am massively intolerant of kid mess/gunk. I don’t automatically love all children just because I have my own, don’t hate me. Soft play is actually my kryptonite and I am noise intolerant, suffer from sensory overload at the drop of a hat and can’t seem to be able to put on my special Mummy hat/face/demeanour at a moment’s notice when I am tired, frazzled and sleep deprived. I sigh at the prospect of craft activities, detest my baking being interfered with at times and I DO NOT DO SICK.

I love my children but I am not the sort of mother that I imagined I would be. Not that I spent a huge part of my life thinking about it I just knew I wanted children and therefore assumed that because I did I would be instantly marvellous at motherhood. Wrong. When I did think about it I imagined that of course I would be very cool. I would drive around in a camper van being all free-spirity with my little rugrats going to festivals and introducing them to all things alternative. We would make dens and mess and be barefoot and carefree and it would be awesome. Every day would be an incredible adventure. I would homeschool and not be beholden to “the Man”. I would make them cool clothes on my Mum’s old sewing machine and bake everything from scratch from food that I had grown myself. Simple.

No.

It turns out that my carefree gene only extends to myself and that presented with 2 small children I just want some co-operation plus peace and quiet. I want to be chilled out and cool about life but the reality is that I just worry about everything and have a parenting style which leaves a lot to be desired if I don’t want my children to rebel horribly and leave home as quickly as possible. I do love being a Mum but I honestly believe that I am shit at it. Don’t misunderstand me, I will pull your arm out of it’s socket with my teeth if you hurt my family in any way at all. I am that sort of maternal not the gentle, fluffy kind that I would like to be.

Sometimes I just want to be on my own, to read, write, drink tea and eat stuff I shouldn’t. I get to do that a lot more than a lot of Mums I know so I am aware how ungrateful that sounds. Maybe I should just go live in a cave or up a mountain. Like a hermit but with really great broadband and chocolate and things would stay clean for more than 1 minute.

Confessions are an odd thing aren’t they?  This could get really dark if we let it couldn’t it? Let’s not do that because that isn’t how we started and we all know we have secrets which are a whole different ball game. Instead I’d prefer to bob back up to the surface with a few more less serious ones and hope that you can add more to the list……

I hate roller-coasters and have no intention of sucking it up and going on one for my children.

I haven’t been sick since I was 7 years old as I have a phobia about it.

I shave my hairy toes.

I don’t really like peas but I eat them to set a good example. The small boy shaped one hates them so I must have a shit poker face.

I often wear socks several times as I just take them off and stuff them in my boots. Mr Moore says I am like a teenage boy.

Occasionally I wee in the shower. It’s liberating, I recommend it. Only in my own shower though not anyone else’s. I’m not that skanky.

Sometimes I forget to wash the kids for a few days…they don’t smell so it’s okay right?

I need to go on that hoarding programme. My house is a nightmare but I am going to deal with it. Now I have said that publicly it means I have to doesn’t it?

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I’ve only gone and bloody done it!!

Two things!! Yup I’ve done two things today that I have wanted to do for absolutely ages and I am very happy and ridiculously PROUD as procrastination is my absolute middle name.

Firstly I have done THIS yes THIS!!! I’ve been driving everyone fucking crazy for a good few years now with my insistance on using Facebook as some sort of mini-blog with my incessant daily wittering about my life – kids, dollops, shit parenting, great parenting, coping/not coping, occasional hangovers, driving my car into stationary vehicles, trying to get fit, running…..you name it and I have gone on about it. So I am still going to do that only now I have more room to crap on about everything and you can join me or run for the hills at your leisure…….I’d love to have you all with me though it’s so much more fun.

Secondly…..I ran 25 minutes without stopping today for the first time EVER oh yes I did!!! As you will learn I am not the sporty type. I am 40, weigh more than I ought to, have Multiple Sclerosis and have historically been the biggest exercise dodger ever and the thought of running? Um……not so much. So thought I’d start Couch to 5K. I have a love hate relationship with running as, well, basically I am shit at it and very slow but I hate to be defeated so I keep coming back to it and oh yes today despite being utterly terrified I only bloody did it!

AND RealMrMoore and I have only had to clear up cat dollops today and not the oh so epic ones of our smallest boy child. Thank fuck for that.Image

So there. That’s it. As someone cleverer than me once said – if you don’t know where to start, start in the middle. So I have.