Thursday, 10 November 2011

32 and counting

G has come up with a brand new insult. It is genius. Tonight, angry that he couldn't take Ted's end of the bath and then disillusioned by the whole bath experience the 'wrong' end of the bath, he was particularly angry as I attempted to dry him and said, "Mum, you are worthless".  He then used it as my name when answering questions, 'yes, worthless', combined with a particularly scathing tone.  As an insult, being worthless is one of the very worst if not the very worst. Far worse than him saying he hates me or that I have a fat tummy or that I smell of poo or that he is not my 'fwend' anymore. I am hoping he got it from the cartoons he watches and didn't just come up with it all by his five year old self. I have always assumed Ted was the evil genius, it would throw me totally if he had learnt it all from his big brother.

As I am imminently about to turn a year older his insult hit a nerve. Yesterday someone asked me for a brief biog of my life in bullet points. All I could come up with was that I am married, have three children, their ages and where I live. I did not include my morning of work once a week as a WW leader. That is the only other thing I could think to say about me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling sorry for myself in the slightest, it's just that on paper there isn't an awful lot more to me. I am 'just' a housewife. It doesn't help that I am not particularly good at being a housewife. I am very good at being at home and caring for children without going crazy but I have never mastered the art of actual housewifery - I think I could charitably be called slovenly at best. A new friend and their child popped round unexpectedly on Wednesday and I was particularly ashamed by the state of the house they encountered. Luckily there were no used nappies laying around or piles of washing with sick lurking within but that was more by luck than design. From now on when the house is particularly disgusting I am going to leave the hoover out, the dishwasher open and the bleach by the loo. That means that if anyone turns up unexpectedly it will look like I am imminently about to tackle the mess and they caught me mid-clean. The bleach will mean I can excuse myself and throw bleach around the loo to give the illusion of a recent clean. I think other people must just live in tidy houses because I have popped round to friends without warning and discovered shining examples of housewifery excellence inside. Their bathrooms are even clean. I just don't know how they do it. They must clean and tidy constantly. That is the only thing I can come up with.

I also hate putting washing away. It is soooo dull. I am very good at getting dirty washing in the washing machine and turning it on, and on a good day I manage to get it into the tumble dryer within 24 hours, and I can also usually allocate time in the day to take the dry clothes out of the tumble dryer but then I stop being productive. The idea of sorting all the clothes in to piles and then putting them away in the correct places leaves me cold, so I usually just dump them in my room and wait until I feel the urge to tidy. This means that for six days out of seven there are clothes mountains in my already tiny room making it feel even more claustrophobic and untidy. If, or should I say when, I win the lottery I would not pay for a small entourage of nannies or anything silly, one of the first things I would do would be to hire a housekeeper. I'm pretty sure the luxury of not having to put my own clothes away would be enough to keep me happy forever.  Oh and a chef, to cook for K. I don't do that either. A true 50s housewife would strip me of my title in disgust which would mean I am totally profession-less other than being a mother. I am going to have to either get good at housewifery or find something else to use as my label.

Actually as a mother I am not that brilliant at the moment. My patience has hit an all time low, my throat hurts from shouting at Ted so much and I spent most of Wednesday in the pub. The last part was actually an activity for Ted. The new friend and I went along to the playgroup held at the local pub. It is a genius concept - the playgroup runs from 10 -12 and from 11am you are able to order booze and should you wish to look really bad, you can even smoke outside in the beer garden. There are no other playgroups like it. Oh and there is cake - home made - lots of it. I'm not making it sound that great for Ted but he also had fun. They have a great number of rabbits in an impressively large hut and run in the beer garden which he loved and there are fishes in a tank and birds in a cage when inside the pub - Ted loves all animals and I never take him anywhere to see them so this was almost like a petting zoo for him. Not to mention the toys that had been laid out inside for the playgroup element of it all - he was very taken with a stuffed frog. However the bit I liked the best was at noon when the tables were put back out, the many, many, many small babies disappeared and the pub reverted back to its primary purpose. We stayed for lunch - although the friend is as poor as me which meant that we ordered a kids meal (£3.50) for the children and ate it ourselves - whilst the children watched the Disney film showing on the kids TV provided. Ted fell asleep on his Ikea kids chair in front of Aladdin whilst I enjoyed his very good hand made fish fingers and chunky chips and it was all in the name of childcare. It really is a truly genius concept. I'm not sure how long Ted will find the animals and frog toy fascinating but I'm hoping I'll get at least one more week out of it.

I must go, I need my beauty sleep. Tomorrow is my birthday party with my mummy friends and my last day of being officially 32. I am planning to make the most of it. Cava, conversation and good food. Can't wait. Saturday is the big day when I shall officially be 33. I don't like the age. It's not that I don't like the idea of getting older, it's just that two odd numbers together sound wrong. I have mistakenly been telling people I am 34 such is my dislike of the age 33. I can't believe I have been ageing myself unnecessarily.  I think I might stay 32 for the next two years to make up for it. Chin chin people and happy birthday to me.


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