Easter Mumming - the cold hard truth

You know what I wish? FYI I'm gonna tell you regardless of whether you want to know or not so consider this your only warning to shut this page down and continue living in your lovely bubble of errm loveliness.

I wish that in this era of social media, the Facebook, the Twitter, the Instagram and the Tik Tok (yes I am fully aware none of these are prefaced by THE and that there are many more but as an old person these are the only ones I am willing to acknowledge) that people could just feel brave enough to say - hey I actually don't like parenting and I'm not that good at it. 

I DO NOT LIKE PARENTING AND I'M NOT THAT GOOD AT IT

There I said it - judge away - but whatever you think that will probably be the most honest thing you read on the internet today.

I have been aware that the Easter holidays were approaching since the last school holiday I managed to dodge (because I HAD to work)  and I have been marking the days like some kind of doomsday calendar in which I am required to manage 16 whole days of family fun. 

As a non playground mum, meaning I don't have to do the school runs I have been hearing about Easter plans only at the small persons activities that I have signed her up to in which no one speaks to me because they don't know who I am (everyone thinks smalls mother is Nona and not in fact me) and because frankly my resting bitch face clearly communicates that I am not a mummy's mummy. What I have managed to establish is the fact that there are the organised every day is an activity mum's, the mum's who actually were smart enough to make other mum friends arrangements for survival with arranged play dates, the mum's who actually enjoy their children and spending time with them and the mum's who just mum all the time so the next 16 days are just an every day occurrence. Annoyingly of all of these groups all of these mum's are well put together with perfect hair and nails and who know how to hold a conversation about their kids and other topical issues. What I learned at a recent birthday party was that I cannot hold a conversation about children that doesn't result in shocked faces, that apparently brushing your hair is a thing and you are supposed to supervise your kid so they don't get a friction burn on the slide. 

I want to be clear here - I have 3 children we won't talk about the age gap (17 years if you really need to know) but I was just a crap mum then as I am now, only this time around I am tired and I made a replica of me - which means it talks alllllllllll the time and loudly. It is passionate and obnoxious and like an elephant on speed. It also knows I am crap at mumming (Yes Nona I am sticking with mumming as a word) but is fortunate to have an amazing daddy and Nona and has taken to disregarding anything I say or do and only acknowledges me by calling me dad. 

Anyhoo - We have achieved day 6 of the holidays - days 1-2 don't count because dad did the parenting. Day 3 was mildly acceptable in that I distracted the small with arts and crafts.There was some crying and wailing when I watched the small person destroy my most favorite art supplies and I was offended by the fact as the parent I had to make her feel better about said destruction. 

 Day 4 I resorted to child slave labour by emptying the garage and encouraging the small to do the washing up which actually was way more effective than anything I had viewed on Pinterest - there was some protest about having to take her shoes off before coming indoors but you know who doesn't enjoy a shared scream along as a bonding experience. Interestingly I forced her to watch monsters inc so I could take a nap while she didn't watch the actual movie but asked questions which mid nap I was able to go mmmm hmmm to.

Day 5 I felt bad, hey it happens just because I am terrible at mumming doesn't mean I don't care about mumming, so I made an Easter lunch (Pinterest) which apparently was amazing, amazing meaning small had zero intention of doing anything other than smearing it into the carpet but recognising before that fact it was a least pretty. Also small has weird obsession of explaining the process of eating as part of her food routine - this only confirming that I would be a terrible dinner lady as well as mum.

There was a confusing moment for both the small and me in which she was not sure whether she should be a Christian or not. No I am not going to give you context because I didn't get any either - one minute we were not eating bunny shaped sandwiches to relieve mum guilt the next we were having an existential crisis. She can't decide whether to believe in God or not, I'm not going to lie, by the time she had loudly and expressively explained her reasoning I had lost the thread of the original conversation about why Sully didn't just adopt Boo in the first place. What I did learn was that my small person likes even numbers - her final rational being she would like Jesus while she was 6 not like him when she was 7 and then decide if she was a Christian at age 8 - regardless of her conclusion about this she definitely is not a fan of hot cross buns on the basis they are neither hot or cross. (Actually she just doesn't like raisins) 

Day 6 - those of you that are close friends and have ever been friends with me will know that today invoked the Schuh noise "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" - those of you that don't know this noise just imagine the noise of I don't know Jesus being resurrected.  Disney camp is the best damn £25 I ever spent. Admittedly there was a bit of pre-drama about wanting to dress as a Disney princess despite there being a dress code and a full on throw yourself on the floor (me) melt down about the fact you needed leggings and a jumper to attend. Also the kid has never had a packed lunch since nursery in which apparently she did not retain any memories of the guilt mum hand made (Pinterest in case you were wondering) wraps and muffins and cakes. What should have been your bog standard 5 minute packed lunch - sandwich, crisps, yogurt and fruit last time I checked (early 2000's) became a performance of shaped sandwiches (yes I bought that on myself see day 5) extra snacks in case she needed to bribe people to be her friend, adhering to nut allergy restrictions and snacks for snacks sake. We made it to camp - there was some questionable parking but I got her there - there was a mad dash back to the house before I had to engage with mums who were sad they left their kid at said camp and then there were 5 yes 5 glorious hours of peace - I felt obligated to make extra noise to make up for the absence of "dad, dad, dad, dad, dad, dad, dad, dad... and repeat" that has been the last 5 days.

Finally I had to pick it up and watch the show - I made Nona attend in which I learned that she has the same tolerance level as me but in different ways - she was pissed we had to stand in the rain before collection time, then she was pissed that we had to wait for late parents (me too) before the performance began, then she practically crawled into my personal space when watching the small do cartwheels badly (I agreed the small nearly took out half the dance troupe with her feet alone) and then Nona got  cross that it was all over. 

We came home - I had hoped small would be knackered but instead she insisted that we all help her create her own subway stand - and then made us order said subways, but she did go to bed early  - WIN

In between all of this because it's not a story unless Nona is involved (if you know you know) - Nona's room decided to rain indoors which required the landlord to come fix it - the poor landlord who I haven't seen in as many years as the small has existed has clearly confused me and my mum to the point he just talks at us as if we were the same person. This is probably because I have abandoned washing my hair or wearing a bra and therefore aging considerably.  Nona has taken to daily walks to avoid the terrible mumming and to spend time with her random walk buddy BOB which I know is not true because before the holidays she told me he was going to Scunthorpe / anywhere with a beach. Also he isn't even called Bob and I may have to screen her for dementia but that is for another day. Since Bob clearly isn't doing it for mum she has decided to attempt the world record for the most amount of washing machine call outs within 2 weeks. Our current total is 5 call outs with 5 different people (men) all of which mum has an opinion on in terms of their competence - who have to date replaced the door, the hose, the rim, the hose (again) and now we are awaiting a drum - she was most annoyed by the one who turned up late and needed a wee - resulting in her suggesting with the cost of living crisis that we frisked him for stolen toilet rolls before he left. 

In between all of this and my protests / disgust for mumming she has in her own style of mumming tried (god love her - sorry small person) to provide me with pep talks about how the small person will be make memories that cannot be forgotten - this leads me to question whether she has actually been present for the last 6 days? 

On a bonus note for the next 4 days its a holiday which means daddy can't work - meaning I can stop mumming and go back to survival mode - No I don't have plans, yes I am aware there is an incoming existential crisis on Easter Sunday, yes I am planning on sleeping in until daddy deals with that shit show. 

I repeat

I DO NOT LIKE PARENTING AND I'M NOT THAT GOOD AT IT