THEY SAY…

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As well as the Frozen soundtrack , I spend a lot of time hearing They say ….and I often wonder who THEY are, where THEY are and why THEY think THEY have the authority on everything

 I was hoping to spare you the agony of my poetic attempts, unfortunately I have failed and have scribed a bit of a ranty ditty about THEY, whoever THEY are.

They live in tall towers, smelling of flowers, whilst sipping the best champagne,

Shaking their heads whilst tutting, “She did it again”

They tut if you do, tut if you don’t,

Moan that you will and groan that you won’t

They won’t let you know if you’re doing it right,

But will wake you up with a fear of failing, during the night

They tell you to do it this way, but don’t delay a day

Because their theories change as they please,

Whilst guffawing at you on your knees.

They see you through their giant binoculars, serving fish fingers again

Whilst they have organic, fresher than fresh meals delivered  by electric train

They put their hands over their eyes as you drop a bookcase on your foot

Whilst soothing a baby in a sling and desperately trying to find the toddler’s favourite book.

They don’t know why you don’t get a grip and wear nice clothes

Whilst they strut about in pristine robes

They don’t know what the fuss is about

It’s child play, although it must be wooden and raved about in the latest magazines

They wonder where you read that puke and snot was better than a healthy, make up sheen

They release new techniques, which you think you have mastered

Just as they put their hands on their perfect hips

And say there were glips,

So please swot up on the latest trend,

Before you blink and it’s reached its end.

After spending three hours following their latest getting the baby to sleep rules before you unwind

You collapse on the sofa, which has taken an hour to find

And breathing a sigh of relief , throw a stray nappy in the bin

Which misses and  unwittingly covers the spy camera

They left there to check you are on track, day out and in

You smile, pop a straw in the bottle of wine and enjoy leftovers of many a processed meal gone by,

Blissfully unaware of  THEY,  hopping mad in their headquarters ,

Somewhere up in the sky.

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WHEN THE TABLES ARE TURNED

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There is an unspoken rule of parenting and actually life in general that should be tattooed on everybody’s arm on leaving the womb which is; SMUGNESS DOESN’T PAY. The second that even a sniff of smugness is spoken or thought, you have inadvertently set yourself up for the most almighty of falls without a soft duvet to land on, more like a hard concrete slab.

Rewind, two weeks. We had had a morning out and the boys had been eerily excellently behaved. Being fools, we decided to chance upon this and went to a bar for lunch. On being seated, the nine month old baby at the table behind us started to shriek, not your average shriek, think horror film multiplied by a zillion kind of shriek. Her family applauded and thought this was hilarious, especially the more she did it. The boys put their hands over their ears, S rolled his eyes and I , oh yes I dared to comment. (Shoot me now) I actually said these words to S ” I`m so glad ours never shrieked”  S said they did shriek but maybe because they´re ours, we didn’t mind. “No, no, no” Say I , momentarily possessed by some hideous smug-arse.  The shrieking continues, the boys are drawing  and we place our order to an apologetic waitress.

The waitress brings our lunch. Chips for Boy 2 and Pasta for Boy 1. Boy 1 steals one of Boy 2´s chips. Boy 2 smiles and takes a strand of cheese from the intended for pasta cheese bowl. Boy 1 howls, leaps up and basically turns into something terrifying that lurks in a world of Ninja Turtles and Horror films for the over thirty-fives. All eyes turn. All chatting stops. The cd jumps and the fruit machine stops flashing. This is not a cute baby making a noise, this is a languishing, raging five year old. Hell hath no fury like a ferocious five year old protecting his cheese. People are shuffling with anticipation waiting to see …

                                                  HOW THE PARENTS ARE GOING TO REACT.

 Awkward, as the parents are frantically eyeing up all escape routes, unfortunately the only way is past everyone and the ice-cream fridge. So much for sitting at the back of the bar “so we don’t disturb anybody else.”

In slow motion I get up and pick up the exploding 5 year old. I move to the side, crouch down and in a very slightly  on the edge, incredibly slow voice try to reason with him, the words ice-cream may have been used. He stops shaking and we do the walk of shame back to the table. En route, I have a masterplan (cop out idea) and ask for another bowl of cheese. Surely, if each boy has a bowl, all will be ok and peace will reign. Surely?

Waitress brings extra bowl. Boy 2 smiles, he just wanted a bit of cheese on his chips. As he reaches for the cheese, Boy 1 rears his head. More howling and writhing and raging takes place, “It´s my cheeeeeeese!” he yells ” I have pasttttaaaaaa” I look around hopefully, wondering  if anybody wants to claim the 2015 winner of the world´s most brattish sounding child. No, no takers. I consider throwing in a bowl of cheese for good measure.

I remove him again and try rationalising, pointing out he may be being ever so slightly majorly unreasonable. We go back in. On seeing the cheese, what lies within resurfaces. I hand him over to S, who also takes him outside for quite a while. I think the words ice-cream and Lego were used.

The bar is still silent. Boy 2 swallows the cheese, I hastily smuggled him and we flatten the bowls so there is no evidence of pilfering. In comes Boy 1 and the onlookers wait eagerly for their next installment. It is here, dear Reader that I think i need to point out something. There is absolutely NO point to this argument because Boy 1 is in fact…

LACTOSE INTOLERANT.

Yes. You read it right. Boy 1 can’t eat cheese and had no intention of eating it anyway.

On his return, he is calmer but still not giving up the cheese. Then, as five year old logic and boredom sets in, he smiles. Squeezes Boy 2´s hand and says “Here you are, you like cheese and chips”  and  promptly throws the contents of both bowls onto Boy 2´s plate. We hear a small ripple of clapping and finish our lunch to the audible comments about our terrible parenting and the soothing dulcet tones of a very cute shrieking baby.

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Point-Shoot

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