…but I still love them to bits.
Carbs? Well duh, we all know how I feel about carbs. But no, I was actually referring to the short people wandering around my house. On that note though, Master 9 is mere inches away from my height. Scares the crap out of me the thought that I’m no longer physically stronger than my most strong-willed child. Mentally stronger? Well, I’d like to think I’m years ahead of him there but goodness is he a conniving little something-or-rather, I have to be on my guard!
Just this evening my darling child wandered in whilst I was sorting out laundry and just casually mentioned,
“Hey Mummy guess what? My brothers worked out how to get bubbles back in their bottle of bubble mix, isn’t that great?”.
I responded with a grunt (as all good mothers do when they’ve spent the afternoon at the park and want 5 measly minutes to themselves). He left and then walked back in cool as a cucumber,
“yeah Mummy, look they worked out how to do it with this”.
I glanced over. He was holding my face wash.
He was holding 50% of my luxury budget, the other one being my day cream. Sure, I don’t know that others would consider a grand total of £15 every 2 or 3 months as luxury but they are mine, all MINE! I will buy it regardless of how healthy the bank balance is looking and that makes it a luxury in my books. If times are tough I may reduce my secret chocolate stash, wash my hair with whatever shampoo we have in the emergency toiletries cupboard and cook pasta for dinner 5 out of 7 nights BUT damnit I will wash my face with a decent cleanser and moisturise the heck out of my scaly eczema prone face!
As you can imagine…I was a wee bit pissed.
I took a deep breath, collected the mound of dirty laundry on the bathroom floor and descended the stairs as gracefully as a woman can with her arms brimming with stinky socks and undies, dumped them in the kitchen and walked into the lounge room.
Long story short, yes the monsters had used my face wash. Yes they knew it was mine (I kinda hoped they didn’t) and that they weren’t allowed to use it. Here’s the kicker.
As I discussed a consequence (Buzz Lightyear confiscated from Master 5 and Master 7’s Lightsaber), Master 7 mentioned something interesting…”Mummy, Master 9 used it too“.
“waah? He did what now?”
“yeah, I saw him”
Oh Master 9 denied and he swore black and blue Master 7 was mistaken, until he finally sensed the gig was up and came clean.
I later asked him why he was trying to get his brothers in trouble when he’d done the same thing? He figured he’d used it at a different time and didn’t think Master 7 would think to mention it.
Underestimating your enemy. Rookie mistake.
Oh and did I mention they decided to have a fruity food fight in the back garden today (no they weren’t dressed in drag, they were throwing fruit) in the 10 minutes we were upstairs and they were unsupervised?
An entire fruit bowls worth. I felt like the Dad from Everybody Hates Chris screeching about the £6 worth of apples and the £1.50 worth of mandarins (bananas were dirt cheap this week). Then there was the smooshed banana all over our 2×2 metre garden, their clothes and hair and a generous helping of crushed apples and mandarins scattered around the place. 10 minutes people! 10 minutes!
Their redeeming quality this week? The thing that makes me want to squeeze ’em tight until they beg to be left alone?
That my three will welcome any child at the park (or school) into a game if they ask if they can play and love every minute of it (hey someone other then your boring Mum and Dad and brothers to play with, score!). I didn’t realise how rare this was becoming with kids today. There are certainly still nice kids out there that will kick their football (soccer ball to anyone not weird like the Brits) with other kids on a sunny spring day in the park but there are also far too many that will act like a kid asking to play with them is a smelly plague infested nuisance (I might be exaggerating slightly…but the foul looks, my goodness!).
I don’t blame the kids, I blame the parents. On Thursday we layed out a blanket in the sunshine and ate burgers in the park. When we’d finished eating the boys ran around a bit and then went to nicely ask a boy who was kicking a ball by himself if they could play with him.
The kid grumbled an, “alright then” and then proceeded to try and kick the ball less than a metre in front of him to avoid them being able to kick it, moving further and further away from them as he kicked the ball and sulked. His Dad then came over and in front of my boys without saying a word to them, moved the ball away and started kicking it back and forth with his kid.
I have never seen something so pathetically rude in my life. I called my kids back over and gently explained to them that the boy didn’t want to play. Master 7 was almost in tears, “no Mummy, he definitely said he wanted to play”. In his mind if you say you want to play, you play!
Two eff off’s to this loser of a parent:
- Teach your kid to politely say, “No sorry” or “I just want to play with my Dad” not sulk and passive aggressively grumble a “yes” when he means “no“
- Grow up and act like a man. Talk about leading by example? Freaking passive aggressive coward. Who goes out of their way to make children feel awkward and confused when a few simple words to them would set it right?
Yes they are little rat bags most days, but they aren’t passive aggressive. Aggressive? For sure…but only to each other not to other kids and without reason. If fighting with your siblings is how you learn to speak up for yourself, be assertive and say what you really mean then maybe I’m okay with the daily bickering! Maybe…