Me and my brilliant ideas....
Half term.
"That wonderful time that occurs a few times a year where us parents can take time off work willy nilly without a hint of inconvenience from our employers, and spend time with our perfect little cherubs in a completely stress free environment, taking part in craft projects, walks on the beach and trips to the park, car journeys with no arguing, eating healthy meals, preparing tea for when Daddy gets home from work, and generally being the poster family for a Laura Ashley magazine."
Said no parent, EVER.
For the first few days of this half term, as well as my two offspring we have also had my 2 stepsons staying with us. This meant, as always, that the second they are through the door, the house I've just cleaned and tidied immediately takes on the appearance of London in the weeks following The Blitz, and is transformed into a noisy Nerf War Battleground. Excellent.
I was determined this week would be different, but alas, the kids had other bloody ideas. Whether it was a moment of madness, or during a gin inspired brainstorming session, I decided that we would all go swimming.
What a knob.
I rushed around and got everyone's stuff ready, whilst simultaneously breaking up arguments, changing nappies, fixing toys, zipping up coats, making sure everyone had a hoody on, and then, finally getting myself ready. I had everything in the car, then called the other half to say we were all ready to go. He asked me on the way out 'Have you packed all my stuff?' I answered yes of course I had. What did he think I was, stupid??
We made it to the leisure centre in one piece, and had a relatively stress free entrance.
That's where the enjoyable afternoon ended.
Got through to the changing rooms to get everyone changed. I had thought ahead and had my bikini on under my jeans and hoody, because I'm a Mum, and obviously, I have my shit together.
Went into the several bags and handed out everyone's swimming shorts, and set about getting Tommy ready, when I noticed Ian standing by the changing room door, not doing anything. What the hell was he waiting for? Why wasn't he getting changed??
Ah. I hadn't packed his shorts.
I was now going to have to tackle all 4 beasts on my own, whist Ian sat in the viewing area having a nice hour off from parenting duties. And it was all my own fault. Was it Gin time yet??
Got into the pool, and it was not the nice warm heated pool I remember. IT WAS BLOODY FREEZING. Tommy gets into the water and shouts 'no, cold Mummy'. Ready to give it up as a bad job, the other three throw themselves in, closely followed by Tommy who now gave zero shits about the temperature of the water and headed straight for all the toy boats and rubber ducks. The eldest two buggered off and left me for the big pool, which they took great delight in telling me was nice and heated, and they were going to stay in there rather than in the smaller refrigerated pool. Cheers boys.
I then spent what seemed like a week from pulling Tommy from under the water (this was now his favourite thing to do, and upon reaching the surface would shout 'Tommy swimming! Again Mummy!' whilst I tried to remember the CPR I had learned a few years ago).
After an hour, Tommy was very cold and was visibly shaking. Rather than risk further hypothermia symptoms, I decided to get him out of the water. The youngest step child was also in with us, and I told him to follow me. Ian handed me Tommy's towel, who had by now realised what was happening, and flicked his switch to full on tantrum mode.
Screaming. Thrashing. Crying. Hitting. Going rigid straight making it impossible to hold him.
Now despite that being a standard tantrum, which is bad at the best of times, it is infinitely more dangerous when you and said toddler are wet through on a very slippy floor, and your little horror bag is hell bent on pulling your bikini off in front of the teenage lifeguards. It is NOT my idea of a fun time.
Leaving the pool to head to the changing rooms, and Tommy decides he cannot live another second without the toy boat he has been playing with, that he can see in the middle of the pool. Youngest step child fetches it for me, and I have to rather sheepishly tell the young lifeguard (who has now pretty much seen more of my body than the midwife who delivered me 35 years ago) that I will return the boat as soon as I have sedated the demon child I am dragging from the pool.
We had to pass the big pool on the way to the changing room, so I see the other two reprobates I am responsible for and ask them to get out of the pool and come and get changed. Looked behind me to make sure I had the other child, and headed in to get changed.
We met Tommy's Daddy by the lockers, but Tommy had no intentions of making this an easy process.
The noise. The horrendous noise. You would genuinely think that I was murdering him with the sounds coming from him. This kid was taking tantrum throwing to another fucking level. Ian passed the bag through that had Tommy's stuff in, and whilst wrangling with Tommy I started reading the label on the anti bac hand gel in the bag to see if it was worth drinking it.
Ian then dared to knock on the door and ask me where the other child was that I had left the pool with. 'He was behind me' I replied. No, he wasn't. The little sod had wandered off, as he obviously decided that my recent stay in hospital due to non functioning kidneys was not enough, and adding a heart attack into the mix would be a great idea. Ian eventually found him staring into space near the showers, and brought him to the changing rooms, where suddenly he lost the use of his arms, legs, brain, and general physical capabilities, ans was completely unable to dry and dress himself.
Whilst Ian dealt with the suddenly incapacitated child, I am still wrangling with Tommy. Now I don't know if you have tried to get a wet through tantrum throwing toddler into clothes, but let me tell you, I would rather tackle a female honey badger with a healthy dose of PMT than do this shit again.
By this stage, I am still in my bikini, Tommy is now fully dressed and has now been screaming for over 25 minutes. IS IT GIN TIME YET??
I look in my bag to get my clothes out. No underwear. Fucks sake.
I got dressed the best I could, and chucked a baseball cap on, as dealing with my hair is going to be one step too far. Got out of the changing cubicle, and hand the screaming Tommy (Who has now been at it for over half an hour) over to Ian before I had a fully blown nervous breakdown. I looked around, and realised that I could not see, or hear, my other two children. I asked Ian where they were, as I had asked them to get out of the pool over half an hour ago...
No answer from Ian, so I went to look for them, and found my eldest step child in the showers by the pool, talking to some random older man who I have never seen before. WHAT IS HE PLAYING AT???!!!
'Luke. LUke. LUKe. LUUUUUKE!!!!! What are you doing? Get out of the shower and come and get changed please'.'
He didn't even acknowledge me. The little bugger.
'Luke! LUKE! Why are you ignoring me??'
I made a start on my 'I'm sick of you children always ignoring me, we are in a public place and its not safe... Blah blah blah...' when I noticed this older chap staring at me like I was some sort of crazed mad woman. I stopped short in my outburst when I noticed Luke and Alfie swim past me in the pool, looking at me wondering what the hell I was doing screaming at this child.
This child in the shower who was not Luke.
The strange older man was in face his grandfather.
Jesus.
After apologising profusely and trying to explain that I wasn't insane, and this child looked exactly like my step son, I made my way to the pool. When passing this child who is by now absolutely terrified of me, I noticed that actually, he looked sod all like Luke, and he didn't even have the same shorts on as him. What a knob.
I asked the boys why the hell they were still in the pool, and why hadn't they got out when I asked them to?? I was leaving now, and if they weren't ready they could walk home.
'Daddy told us to stay in the pool'.
Did he now.
After pondering on where to hide Ian's body when we got home, I asked them to get out, and turned on my heels to make a dramatic exit to demonstrate what a trauma I was going through, and to of course gain sympathy from everyone around me. What I had forgotten was that I was stood next to a swimming pool, the wet floor was dangerously slippy, and the soles on my Nike Air Max were offering hardly any grip, and I fell flat on my arse.
Let me die now.
After getting myself up, and noticing several sympathetic glances from other Mothers losing their shit with their own kids (who were probably now feeling very pleased that their day wasn't going as fuking awful as mine obviously was) I made it back to the changing rooms, where Tommy is still screaming the place down.
I demanded the car keys from Ian, and contemplated driving home and leaving them all there. Deciding against it, I took Tommy from Ian and out to the car, and physically wrestled him into his car seat. I had had enough.
I called the local pub to book a table for 5 - a seat for Ian and our 4 children. I was going to sit at the bar.
Ian returned to the car with the 3 remaining children and without a word I drove us all to the pub. I ordered myself a large gin and tonic, and soft drinks for everyone else. I was not driving from here on in.
In order to keep the little ones entertained, the two eldest went to the shop next door to get comics for them all. Of course, as life was not done with me yet, I made the mistake of giving them my bank card and PIN number to take to the shop with them.
Several gins and a full rack of ribs later, I am slightly less stressed. Until Alfie showed me the card receipt, and I found that they had spent over £20.00 on four comics. WHAT?? After turning into my Dad and launching into a full 'In my day...' speech, I realised something.
I had got up out of my chair, and felt a very cold draught in my groin. I looked down to see it was wet.
Oh God. My bikini.
Without thinking, in my rush to get out of the hell that was the changing room, I had forgotten to take off my bikini and go commando in my jeans.
I now had a very noticeable wet patch, and it looked like I had drunk that much I had pissed myself.
The trip home was done via the off licence. One double gin was not enough for this day.
But, two more days to go, and the kids are back to school, so I can drink my pink gin and tonics to my hearts content :)
Bloody half term!!!
"That wonderful time that occurs a few times a year where us parents can take time off work willy nilly without a hint of inconvenience from our employers, and spend time with our perfect little cherubs in a completely stress free environment, taking part in craft projects, walks on the beach and trips to the park, car journeys with no arguing, eating healthy meals, preparing tea for when Daddy gets home from work, and generally being the poster family for a Laura Ashley magazine."
Said no parent, EVER.
For the first few days of this half term, as well as my two offspring we have also had my 2 stepsons staying with us. This meant, as always, that the second they are through the door, the house I've just cleaned and tidied immediately takes on the appearance of London in the weeks following The Blitz, and is transformed into a noisy Nerf War Battleground. Excellent.
I was determined this week would be different, but alas, the kids had other bloody ideas. Whether it was a moment of madness, or during a gin inspired brainstorming session, I decided that we would all go swimming.
What a knob.
I rushed around and got everyone's stuff ready, whilst simultaneously breaking up arguments, changing nappies, fixing toys, zipping up coats, making sure everyone had a hoody on, and then, finally getting myself ready. I had everything in the car, then called the other half to say we were all ready to go. He asked me on the way out 'Have you packed all my stuff?' I answered yes of course I had. What did he think I was, stupid??
We made it to the leisure centre in one piece, and had a relatively stress free entrance.
That's where the enjoyable afternoon ended.
Got through to the changing rooms to get everyone changed. I had thought ahead and had my bikini on under my jeans and hoody, because I'm a Mum, and obviously, I have my shit together.
Went into the several bags and handed out everyone's swimming shorts, and set about getting Tommy ready, when I noticed Ian standing by the changing room door, not doing anything. What the hell was he waiting for? Why wasn't he getting changed??
Ah. I hadn't packed his shorts.
I was now going to have to tackle all 4 beasts on my own, whist Ian sat in the viewing area having a nice hour off from parenting duties. And it was all my own fault. Was it Gin time yet??
Got into the pool, and it was not the nice warm heated pool I remember. IT WAS BLOODY FREEZING. Tommy gets into the water and shouts 'no, cold Mummy'. Ready to give it up as a bad job, the other three throw themselves in, closely followed by Tommy who now gave zero shits about the temperature of the water and headed straight for all the toy boats and rubber ducks. The eldest two buggered off and left me for the big pool, which they took great delight in telling me was nice and heated, and they were going to stay in there rather than in the smaller refrigerated pool. Cheers boys.
I then spent what seemed like a week from pulling Tommy from under the water (this was now his favourite thing to do, and upon reaching the surface would shout 'Tommy swimming! Again Mummy!' whilst I tried to remember the CPR I had learned a few years ago).
After an hour, Tommy was very cold and was visibly shaking. Rather than risk further hypothermia symptoms, I decided to get him out of the water. The youngest step child was also in with us, and I told him to follow me. Ian handed me Tommy's towel, who had by now realised what was happening, and flicked his switch to full on tantrum mode.
Screaming. Thrashing. Crying. Hitting. Going rigid straight making it impossible to hold him.
Now despite that being a standard tantrum, which is bad at the best of times, it is infinitely more dangerous when you and said toddler are wet through on a very slippy floor, and your little horror bag is hell bent on pulling your bikini off in front of the teenage lifeguards. It is NOT my idea of a fun time.
Leaving the pool to head to the changing rooms, and Tommy decides he cannot live another second without the toy boat he has been playing with, that he can see in the middle of the pool. Youngest step child fetches it for me, and I have to rather sheepishly tell the young lifeguard (who has now pretty much seen more of my body than the midwife who delivered me 35 years ago) that I will return the boat as soon as I have sedated the demon child I am dragging from the pool.
We had to pass the big pool on the way to the changing room, so I see the other two reprobates I am responsible for and ask them to get out of the pool and come and get changed. Looked behind me to make sure I had the other child, and headed in to get changed.
We met Tommy's Daddy by the lockers, but Tommy had no intentions of making this an easy process.
The noise. The horrendous noise. You would genuinely think that I was murdering him with the sounds coming from him. This kid was taking tantrum throwing to another fucking level. Ian passed the bag through that had Tommy's stuff in, and whilst wrangling with Tommy I started reading the label on the anti bac hand gel in the bag to see if it was worth drinking it.
Ian then dared to knock on the door and ask me where the other child was that I had left the pool with. 'He was behind me' I replied. No, he wasn't. The little sod had wandered off, as he obviously decided that my recent stay in hospital due to non functioning kidneys was not enough, and adding a heart attack into the mix would be a great idea. Ian eventually found him staring into space near the showers, and brought him to the changing rooms, where suddenly he lost the use of his arms, legs, brain, and general physical capabilities, ans was completely unable to dry and dress himself.
Whilst Ian dealt with the suddenly incapacitated child, I am still wrangling with Tommy. Now I don't know if you have tried to get a wet through tantrum throwing toddler into clothes, but let me tell you, I would rather tackle a female honey badger with a healthy dose of PMT than do this shit again.
By this stage, I am still in my bikini, Tommy is now fully dressed and has now been screaming for over 25 minutes. IS IT GIN TIME YET??
I look in my bag to get my clothes out. No underwear. Fucks sake.
I got dressed the best I could, and chucked a baseball cap on, as dealing with my hair is going to be one step too far. Got out of the changing cubicle, and hand the screaming Tommy (Who has now been at it for over half an hour) over to Ian before I had a fully blown nervous breakdown. I looked around, and realised that I could not see, or hear, my other two children. I asked Ian where they were, as I had asked them to get out of the pool over half an hour ago...
No answer from Ian, so I went to look for them, and found my eldest step child in the showers by the pool, talking to some random older man who I have never seen before. WHAT IS HE PLAYING AT???!!!
'Luke. LUke. LUKe. LUUUUUKE!!!!! What are you doing? Get out of the shower and come and get changed please'.'
He didn't even acknowledge me. The little bugger.
'Luke! LUKE! Why are you ignoring me??'
I made a start on my 'I'm sick of you children always ignoring me, we are in a public place and its not safe... Blah blah blah...' when I noticed this older chap staring at me like I was some sort of crazed mad woman. I stopped short in my outburst when I noticed Luke and Alfie swim past me in the pool, looking at me wondering what the hell I was doing screaming at this child.
This child in the shower who was not Luke.
The strange older man was in face his grandfather.
Jesus.
After apologising profusely and trying to explain that I wasn't insane, and this child looked exactly like my step son, I made my way to the pool. When passing this child who is by now absolutely terrified of me, I noticed that actually, he looked sod all like Luke, and he didn't even have the same shorts on as him. What a knob.
I asked the boys why the hell they were still in the pool, and why hadn't they got out when I asked them to?? I was leaving now, and if they weren't ready they could walk home.
'Daddy told us to stay in the pool'.
Did he now.
After pondering on where to hide Ian's body when we got home, I asked them to get out, and turned on my heels to make a dramatic exit to demonstrate what a trauma I was going through, and to of course gain sympathy from everyone around me. What I had forgotten was that I was stood next to a swimming pool, the wet floor was dangerously slippy, and the soles on my Nike Air Max were offering hardly any grip, and I fell flat on my arse.
Let me die now.
After getting myself up, and noticing several sympathetic glances from other Mothers losing their shit with their own kids (who were probably now feeling very pleased that their day wasn't going as fuking awful as mine obviously was) I made it back to the changing rooms, where Tommy is still screaming the place down.
I demanded the car keys from Ian, and contemplated driving home and leaving them all there. Deciding against it, I took Tommy from Ian and out to the car, and physically wrestled him into his car seat. I had had enough.
I called the local pub to book a table for 5 - a seat for Ian and our 4 children. I was going to sit at the bar.
Ian returned to the car with the 3 remaining children and without a word I drove us all to the pub. I ordered myself a large gin and tonic, and soft drinks for everyone else. I was not driving from here on in.
In order to keep the little ones entertained, the two eldest went to the shop next door to get comics for them all. Of course, as life was not done with me yet, I made the mistake of giving them my bank card and PIN number to take to the shop with them.
Several gins and a full rack of ribs later, I am slightly less stressed. Until Alfie showed me the card receipt, and I found that they had spent over £20.00 on four comics. WHAT?? After turning into my Dad and launching into a full 'In my day...' speech, I realised something.
I had got up out of my chair, and felt a very cold draught in my groin. I looked down to see it was wet.
Oh God. My bikini.
Without thinking, in my rush to get out of the hell that was the changing room, I had forgotten to take off my bikini and go commando in my jeans.
I now had a very noticeable wet patch, and it looked like I had drunk that much I had pissed myself.
The trip home was done via the off licence. One double gin was not enough for this day.
But, two more days to go, and the kids are back to school, so I can drink my pink gin and tonics to my hearts content :)
Bloody half term!!!
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