Everyone with delightful elder daughters I've asked for help so far have pulled that face (the 'don't-make-me-go-back-there!!!-face'), offered up a dish of horror stories and then kindly added 'but they come through it'. HOW MANY YEARS? HOW MANY YEARS DOES IT TAKE??? When will I be all wise and calm and philosophical???
I'm not known for my patience. When I discovered I was pregnant with Bump Number 2 I was quite furious that I had to do the whole 9 months thing. 'But I've done it before! Why can't I just pop it out now and start from there???'
'But they come through it.'
I'm really not sure I did. And that is the problem.
Skipped from teenage mutant non-speaking shirker straight to middle-age deviant shrieking berserker. I even screamed the f word at the 2 small boys today in MY MUM'S HOUSE. THAT'S how grown-up I am. Mind you I did believe that one was ripping the leg off the other with the push-button reclining mechanism of a demon armchair. Thuglet was wedged behind it trying to retrieve a hurled shoe screaming like a Tudor heretic on the rack while big bruv was blankly cruising the controls and completely ignoring all sources of yelling. I thought a couple of high decibel fucks were most definitely in order. When the phone rang later this evening I knew it was my mum checking that I hadn't driven them off Beachy Head.
It was well past time to go. Much Lego to retrieve and we were still missing 2 magnetic bees and the special self-sealing bag they live in and one mini Mini. AND I still had the doorstep challenge to endure - like the old Crackerjack ending I wobble hopelessly with bagfuls of books and DVDs and wrapped up sausages and French sticks trying to make a bolt for it before another cupboard door opens. Then I spiked up further in the car when I realised that mum hadn't changed the little carriage clock on the shelf so I wouldn't be getting home 'til 8.00pm instead of 7.00pm and I still had 5 beds to make thanks to the reappearance of the nitty noras. Sigh.... Tossed in a few more sulky fucks for the road.
Poor Minx doesn't really stand a chance does she?
I should be commiserating with you but I'm now reminiscing about Crackerjack. I used to envy the lucky kids with the piles of gifts, so overloaded they had to stick the Crackerjack pencil up their jacksy. Happy memories.
ReplyDeleteMy inlaws have a demon chair too. Bloody lethal thing in baby poo green dralon.
dig's mother had a swivel king. we all had fun on the swivel king. i miss the swivel king. it had such retro charm.
ReplyDeleteI want a swivel king.
ReplyDeleteWhatever it is.
Actually what I really want is to know if that photo of you in the corner is anything like you...or are you 20 stone with a lady Di haircut and a fondness for country and western music.
Er...did I just say that out loud..?
Crackerjack!!!!!! Crackerjacksie? Maybe that was the original title? Nice.
ReplyDeleteSwivel king? Are we back on jacksies? Swivel on THAT!!!
I LOVE C & W!!!!!!!! Really I do. This is why we have to live somewhere with no neighbours. But obviously I am a 6 foot waif with tousled chestnut locks and sticky-uppy pert boobies. Oh yeah.......
(Dammit - if you're going to Hesfes this year I'm gonna have to hide..... if you hear strains of Steand Bah Yowre Mayn you betta run gur!!!!)
HESFES attendance looks likely. But you'll just be one of a whole field full of weird and erratic women, so I think your identity is safe.
ReplyDeleteAnd of course I will be attending in my spiky fish suit, as always.
Will bring my net.
ReplyDelete