Welcome to Mother’s Day Part 3

Part 1 is here   Part 2 here.

So now I have a little time to myself, right? Ha! It’s Mother’s Day and we have 2 Grandmothers that for some unknowable reason want to see my children. My theory is they are lying but they keep denying it, so I take my children to them as punishment for their deceit. We have to get ready.

 

I take my pills and get to use my new apple slinky machine. But no time for morning coffee in my new mug, maybe this afternoon. No peace either, the kids are putting stickers on to Grandma’s card in the dining room. So the arguing continues unabated continuously interspersed with:

“Put the cat/dog/smaller sister down!”

“Put the cat/dog/smaller sister down, now!”

“For God’s sake put the cat/dog/smaller sister down!”

“His/her head/leg/tail doesn’t go any further in that direction.”

“No, he/she doesn’t like it, put him/her down!”

“Oh for God’s sake, we only just got your sister to put that poor cat/dog down!”

But they don’t always ignore us, sometimes the remind us of their reasons for trying to maim the pet.

“But he/she loves me!” with or without “not her!”

“But I have to wait because I can’t reach the stickers because Cat is fat”

About 20 minutes in I interject “Next time, for my Mother’s Day gift get the kids to put the stickers on in the Activity room. That’s why we have an Activity room!”

“For activities!”

“To get you all the hell away from me for 5 seconds!” I am not nice I am a Mum.

 

It’s my turn for a shower, a moment alone (my husband is in the middle of talking so he’s there but I consider him a bonus not company).

“Is this the yellow pill? Oh and Tasha wants to talk to you!”

Yes that is the only yellow pill in the house, let alone the box your father just gave you.

“Yes, that is the yellow pill,” I say. “What does a closed…”

No, I give up; I will talk to her when I feel less like strangling her, maybe her 50th Birthday Party. I just shut the door while she is in mid-sentence. Hurrah, she doesn’t reopen it to explain. Maybe 23 years of telling her to only open a shut door if the problem is urgent have finally kicked in. Doubtful this is the same child who just a few years ago along with her sisters including the (now) 21 year old who had a real boyfriend for 5 years, regularly, carefully jimmied opened our locked bedroom door sometimes after midnight because she/they needed to ask a question but it wasn’t important so they didn’t want to wake us both. I sleep with an open door.

“I just want 5…” I don’t even have to finish.

“Oh, I know!” he reassures me.

 

We manage to leave the bathroom but before I can get dressed (or her father can finish a sentence).

“So can I look for boots in your wardrobe?” Would she ask I wonder if I wasn’t in her way?

“I don’t care as long as you let us finish a bloody sentence! Oh & look at the grey ones I think they’ll bring out the grey in that shirt”

“You are such a mum,” says my better half.

“Shut up!”

The grey boots have mysteriously disappeared but she asks my opinion on some black ones. She (23 year old) is the only one who asks my opinion on items. The younger two (15 & 12) ask how do I look, but I’ve learnt the hard way the only acceptable answer is a variation of ‘beautiful’. My 21 year old doesn’t ask. I used to care how my children looked, especially on special occasions. I no longer care how my children look. Don’t get me wrong 3 of them often look great, especially if they aren’t in costume (I like the costumes but sometimes in the outside world…). And the fourth looks great too; for a goth male usually. I will intervene if they leave the house without covering the bits necessary for public decency, if feeling particularly energetic I insist their hair looks brushed.

We’re dressed, we’re late, we’re off! Quickly before being dressed becomes too much for one of them & we have to find their clothes and dress them again.

Part 4

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