That seemed like a good idea at the time……….

mayhem 1mayhem febDearest Lucy

Oh my goodness, I think I may have found if not the cure for our mayhem and ridiculousness, at least the cause! I have not been this excited since Brad Pitt broke up with Jennifer Aniston (I always knew I could make him happy). Lucy, we are the queens of “things that seemed like a good idea at the time”. We don’t think things through, we get wonderful ideas, get totally overexcited about either our new invention, new way of cooking, driving, drinking, looking after the children (this is always a term used in its loosest possible sense) and then we just run with it, no holes barred, caution thrown to the wind and invariably, as we know, it normally ends up in catastrophic disasters.

Let me quantify this theory with a couple of examples from this weekend. I decided to organise a little protest march to try and prevent a horrid housing developer from building a one my favourite fields. You see Lucy, I genuinely thought that me being in charge of a little rabble rousing was a GOOD idea! I was the only person who didn’t have their dog on a lead and so when the cavalry of horses turned up with the other 200 people who came to show their support, it was only MY dog who ran amongst the horses and had several of them galloping off in different directions. When I shouted at the nearest man “Can you please, for goodness sake, control that dog” – he rather indignantly looked at and yelled back “it’s not my dog”. “I know that” I replied, “it’s my dog, but can you at least TRY and control it?”. The protest went off without too much incident apart from the walk back to the house where Spencer found my discarded bra (intended to take for burning purposes) and proceeded to run around the green, infront of the really nice journalist that came along, with it in his mouth.

So, we then move on to this morning, when I thought it would be a great idea to carry Alice on my back (she’s 11) to avoid a particularly muddy spot on our walk to school. She disagreed with my idea, but as I am a well respected parent in our family (I am dillusional as well as walking disaster) she finally went along with my bright idea and took a run up behind me, launched herself on my back so I stood up, not taking into account that her arms weren’t round my neck and Alice, ended up not with mud only on her shoes but all down her back, her legs and her hair as she wound up horizontal in said muddy spot.

And then finally, taking a shower with the light on without shutting the shower door when there is a tree surgeon working on the neighbour’s house. I wore a shower cap, that poor man.

So, in conclusion Luce, I think from now on, any more hair brained ideas need to be run past someone more grown up. I can only hope, that my impending nuptials are not one of these examples. I have been told that the definition of a husband is someone who seemed like a good idea at the time……………

Dignified I am not.

Last night I posted to myself on Facebook. Dear me, I wrote, could I please not make a tit of myself tomorrow. Thank you. I mean it’s not that I mind the occasional self inflicted goonery but every day, really? Could I not just limit it to weekly for instance.

But dear Emma it was not to be. so I started today at an all time low, with one dog throwing up bright yellow bones right outside the school gate and in front of a whole array of horrified mothers with toddlers in tow, who then watched on aghast as the other dog first wee’d on it and then ate it, before greeting my children (and a few others) with a rapturous licking!

And I might just have got away with that level of shame, had I not, on returning home, inadvertently (and without my knowledge) speed dialled a fellow parent  at the precise moment that I let rip at the children with all the dignity of an over weight hippo having a bad day. You know the sort of rant I mean, the ones that go hand in hand in hand with red mist, middle aged hormones and a fast approaching menopause! The sort that you really don’t want anyone else to over hear.

20141219_153114_AndroidBut my day got progressively worse, as rather than say something erudite and wise to an important potential client who’s business I was hoping to win, I opened my mouth and out came one of the worst ISIS jokes I could have possibly come up with as my colleague looked on in abject horror!  And then I compounded the bad impression I’d created by waffling on about the mental health of my middle age, transsexual guinea pig. It surely was one of my worst networking efforts since I slammed the phone down on one client in order to pursue a dog and threw coffee on another. Dignified and smooth I am not.

And then the shopping arrived and I was left wondering what part of me had ever thought I had a need for 6 cabbages and one very small potatoe. And people wonder why I feed my children pig’s trotters.

Lucy

Ps. I couldn’t resist sending one more picture of my booby tree!

Mutual madness, it’s a family thing and relatively cheap.

My darling Lucy, today is the last day of 2014 and I am sitting here reflecting on the year that was and trying to put some of my mayhem mishaps into some kind of palatable context. Do you ever find yourself standing in a very public place where you have just either fallen over or realised you have odd shoes on (Tesco for me this morning – both the shoes and the fall) and think, why do these things keep happening to me? Well hence my reflection this afternoon. So I started to think about the people and animals that I am surrounded by and how actually so many of my “moments” are infact down to them. I was having a proper heart to heart with Alice yesterday, a really good chat about some stuff that was bothering her about life and love and mid sentence she just fell off the back of the sofa. This was surreal enough but her reaction to this was to quite simply get back up and carry on as if nothing had happened. It is only at this precise moment that I think this is slightly odd, at the neither her or I found it even worth stopping our conversation for. I spend a lot of time with my daughter, no wonder her lunacy is rubbing off on me. Then there is Ed who I found in the garage this morning, minus 5 degrees wearing a bobble hat, his pyjamas and some ski boots working out on a kitchen table bench. “Morning darling” I greeted him, “and this?” to which I got the response “I have to get fitter Em, I dropped a load of your HRT pills this morning and Spencer tried to eat them all, I didn’t like the idea of a menopausal Labrador so I’ve decided to get into shape, please don’t interrupt me again”.

It’s not me is it?

Talking of Spencer, he has so far eaten a delivery driver’s Big Mac and quarter pounder from his truck cab, a poor fisherman’s squid bait on the beach and a child’s ice lolly from it’s pram, this along with carting me through the local pub’s bar to take me out the other side without even so much as a by or leave. Re-entering the pub from a totally different side red faced and out of breath with Spencer still dragging me at break neck speed was quite something to be enjoyed.

And then there are the moments when I really do have to take total responsibility for my utter stupidity. Applying Veet to the ol’ bikini line and then forgetting you’ve done it and totally disintegrating a brand new pair of knickers is nobody else’s fault than my own as is reporting my car stolen to the police because it wasn’t on the drive when I got home only to discover I had driven to school and walked home. Walking the dog with a total stranger only to come home and find that I hadn’t taken the old make up off the night before and had just done a circuit of a lovely field with a truly delightful gent looking like tomorrow’s Alice Cooper. Timing the venison cooking for boxing day to the minute then realising I’d forgotten to switch the oven on. All these beauties are more own doing and with the help of some mind blowing sloe gin and saucepans full of mulled wine, I not only regret none of them but probably won’t remember any of them by next year! So, my lovely friend, here is to a hugely successful 2014 and chin chin to more of the same in the new year! mayhem 4 mayhem alice mayhem spencer

The real Christmas

 

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Oh Christmas comes but once a year,

And every house is filled with cheer.

But all I know is that I am shattered,

And my dirty old house is tired and tattered.

I’ve drunk the gin and all the wine,

And it’s not even breakfast time!

I’ve drunk the vodka and the port

And Christmas pudding? Abort! Abort!

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The dog has eaten all the bacon,

My wine drenched body is really achin’.

And now I’ve drunk the whisky too,

And cooked mince pies up as a stew.

The kids have stolen all the presents,

The dog has killed the local pheasants.

The sherry, well it came in handy,

I washed it down with a small brandy.

It turns out Santa is a drunk

I found him sleeping in Monty’s bunk

Old Granddad drank up all the hooch

and then he tried to have a smooch,

With Booby’s mother from next door,

And she turned out to be a …

Now I’m sitting on the ward,

Pulling crackers, looking bored.

The nurse says I’ll go home tomorrow ,

A happy face I’ll need to borrow.

But never mind it’s Boxing day,

And all that happiness – has gone away!

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A bit of a rant but is it really just me who feels this way?

Dear Emma,

Well, we’re crashing towards Christmas and it’s all set to be the season of discontent round here. I mean let’s face it, this month is the ultimate test of your parenting abilities or lack thereof.

And who the hell invented Christingle anyway, which in this family starts with the children pilfering any spare change before fighting over the candle and is followed by setting light to the kid in front’s hair with the flame before a quick trip to casualty after one of them has poked the other in the eye with the cocktail stick. And whoever thought playing “orange” bowling whilst waiting in A&E was going to be a good idea. What Christian message can I possibly extract from all that?untitled (42)

But that was last year and this month I surpassed myself by forgetting the service altogether and then collaborating with my beloved and coming up with an excessively elaborate lie about why we hadn’t taken them to the service.  You know when you’re pretend crying and faking a candle wax allergy, you may have taken things too far!

And then this week there’s:

  •  The first of the nativity plays (cue my child being the only child with, dare I admit it, a grubby tea towel on his head amidst the other bespoke nativity costumes but at least I didn’t, like previous years, induce a febrile convulsion in my child by over heating them in a sheep costume. And yes I say “first of the nativity plays” because I’ve got a total of 4 performances to sit through which is more than any parent should have to endure).
  • Christmas hat day (am I really going to be judged on my ability to read the school newsletter and digest this gem of a pain in the arse activity).
  • The school disco (oh that’s only 6 trips to the school in one day then as all my children have different disco slots and don’t get me started on the clothes).
  • The “take a home made decoration to school day” (why can’t they make that in school – I’m beginning to get hysterical!).
  • The make a Boomerang and a Didgeridoo day. Just don’t ask.
  • School open day (a complete cop out on the school’s part, when any self respecting parent is made to smile desperately at 22 meaningless school books and wonder why they can’t just give us an end of term report instead – that’s 45 minutes of my life I’ll never get back!)

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And how is it that, with only 10 days left of this long and agonising term, I’ve only just realised that my daughter doesn’t have any shoes, school socks or shirts and that my middle son has been wearing his sisters trousers to school for the last 10 weeks!

And they call this the season of good will and wonder why most mothers secretly slip into a gin bottle at the first reasonable opportunity. Bring back Scrooge – all is forgiven! Surely next week will be easier?

Rocking mayhem and the menopause………

motherhood

How to parent badly!

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My darling Lucy,

I always would have imagined that I would be so much safer and less disruptive if ever confined to my normal, natural habitat. I have of course proved myself totally wrong by simply intensifying the madness that existed before when confined to a small space! This recovery thingy from a hysterectomy which essentially sends an already loopy bird into surgical menopause, really should come with all the after care of a frontal lobotomy.

I’ve had the dilemma of running out of thigh space for the HRT patch (never thought that lack of surface area of MY thighs would ever be an issue) – only to be told in a roll your eye gesture by my 12-going-on-25 year old that I do actually have another leg I could try. THAT was an oversight I could live with but oh to see the faces of my family as I was rushing around the house, talking to my boss on the phone, making hand gestures and mouthing obscenities at my beloved and kids implicating them in losing my phone…………..which I was talking into…………. only to then hear Ed very gently and quietly saying to the children, “OK kids, come away from your mother.”

As they all retreated out of the living room it dawned on me that Ed had really got to grips with how to deal with my rather odd moments of late. Last week I managed to have a text argument with him, from start to finish, that is from initial and general name calling, showing overall dissatisfaction with him to making up with him and forgiving him without him even being involved. That’s right, my mood swings were such that his presence or response was simply not required to get me through my little rant. He was thrilled when he finally read all his messages from me that day to find that I had sorted out all our marital disagreements all by myself. He has of course been warned since that this kind of neglectful behaviour will not be tolerated for long, I don’t think he heard me as he left for work whilst I was in mid conversation with him.

This strange behaviour has spilled over into my work too. I have had to apologise to various schools for sending them various worlds on Minecraft when copying and pasting messages that should be about their children’s safety behind the wheel of a car, with one school I had to apologise for sending them a selfie of me and my dog by accident. I’m sure the P45 won’t take too long to get here.

Then you have to see the funny side of all this, seeing adverts for Vaseline with the soundtrack of Billy Ocean’s, “Love really hurts without you.” really made me smile, or did I just imagine that…………..

La la la la la la la off I go…………………

I’m not blind, i’m just misinformed.

Dear Emma,

thF32NZO5UI’ve decided not to tell my beloved that I accidently reversed into his car last night and then, as a result of my surprise, shot forward and hit his new fence. There were mitigating circumstances, I just can’t think what they were and these things do tend to upset him in my experience. And after all, my tow bar was already broken and I’m sure with modern technology, number plates are now overrated. That said, if he looks closely enough, he may just see my registration number emblazoned on his passenger door.

You see that’s the trouble with getting old (and in my case buying a pair of glasses from a dodgy salesmen which look great but actually seem to make my sight worse). Last week I woke up and was alarmed to see that I’d come out in a nasty attack of ringworm on the side of my face. ringworm parent Anything is possible in this house so I took myself sharpish to the doctors, only to be told that I had in fact just slept on a button. And a badly sewn on one at that according to the doctor which I thought was an unnecessary detail. Oh the double humiliation of an ageing skin.

And it also turns out that the man I accused of being a murderer on the train from London because he had the feet of a killer, wrapped in black sacks was actually just wearing special cycling shoes and held a respectable job at the bank. But again, how was I supposed to know that and I don’t think he needed to call security and have me thrown off the train. I mean that was hard to explain to the school when I was late for pick up again! Thank goodness for the presence of a cute puppy to throw the headmistress off the scent (and to blame for eating those “Parent Good Behaviour” forms which I still haven’t signed (8 weeks now and counting- wondering if I can dodge then for a whole year)!

But on that note, I have to leave you my dear Emma because I can smell the sweet smell of another incarcerated meal and the dulcet tones of a husband coming through the door who may have spotted the large dent in his car. This is going to require an awful lot of gin to smooth over and let’s just thank the lord that I changed the password on my (well his) Paypal account before he got home or it could get ugly.