Nick nack mummy had a paddy whack

You could hear a pin drop.

There was red-y orange matter all over the walls and the draining board – like body matter. There were broken bits of white hard material in the sink –  it looked like shards of bone. It seemed to be a serious case for the Neighbourhood Watch. Nosey Norma from across the close would positively orgasm at the scandal of it all.

I had exploded.

No. What had happened was in a *cough* provoked tantrum, I threw a plate of lovingly slaved over and homemade (*grimaces at memory*) dinner at the sink and it exploded everywhere. The red-y orange? Tomato chunks. The bone in the sink? Shards of plastic plate (No bones that I know of have Thomas the Tank on them). It wasn’t big. It wasn’t clever. But I did it. Ok?

But the kids were as silent as mice…

Now I see why the Greeks do it.

“you givea mea jip? Aboutta de tomataa pastaa?” *SMASH*

Never a truer word. I think this is a missing entry of The Bible. The Church have banned it in a secret pact with Annabel Karmel.

“No one can know” emails the Pope to Annabel. “Go – write a book where mothers pour over food for HOURS for their ungrateful offspring. Say bad things about fish fingers and beans on toast. This is the DEVIL FOOD! ps – a mention in the acknowledgements at the end wouldn’t go amiss. Much love and big kisses. Popeykins.”

I don’t know why I bother. The childrens faces positively glow when they find an old bit of toast down the side of the sofa (we have not had toast for 3 days). This can not be beaten by a home made fish pie (fish pie? shit pie) or by chicken stew (chicken stew? Spew).  I digress at this point to say that I DO CLEAN, but lately it has been a bit more like *squirts furniture polish in to the air* “house work is done!”. And one of the best things about weetabix is that it is holding the highchair together like a glue. If I scrub it away it would collapse.

Of course Alex might not be hungry – he spent god knows how long licking the plastic recycling clean before I found him. Just a short while later I found him sucking on the pipe I use to clean the fish poo out of the bowl. In apology he kissed me. Nice that he shares his parasites.

You see, it wasn’t JUST the lack of appreciation for my amazing cooking on that one solo day. It was a formala.

Heat(20 degrees?! I may as well have sat IN the oven to chop my veg. I am BRITISH. I can NOT cope with 20 degrees!) + chopping, dicing, deseeding for 20 minutes+ breaking up the 5th fight between the one year old and the 3 year old that day + scrubbing ginger nut out of the carpet to the comments of “you missed a bit” + my expensive estee lauder face cream being used for hair cream (not by me) + calling children for dinner and being told this “I. Don’t. Wan’t. It” + tantrums. Tantrums tantrums tantrums.

At 5.32 (see how I am noting minutes) either one of 3 things happened. Either 1) Alex had stopped to take a breath mid-scream (a long one) 2) the wine bottle I just swigged from had actual magical powers or 3) I had gone deaf.

Oh and I think, I think that having been hit in the face with someone elses toenail cipping whilst grooming the children pushed me over the edge. I mean, nothing can beat getting hit in the face with someone elses’ toenail.

Hence the crime/grime scene.

I picked up bicycle pump (not to use as a weapon! What do you think I am!). I am 31 and have no idea how to work it.

“This is pathetic” I say. *starts blowing in to the tyre*.

I have lungs of steel – I have blown the balloons for countless childrens (and my dads) birthday parties!  How can rubber tyres be any different to balloons? It doesn’t work. I sulk until Smudge comes home and fixes it. I am not angry about having to wait for a man to do this for me. I just don’t want oil on my trousers – I will happily wait for quite frankly, anyone to do this job for me. I would flag down a double glazing salesman if I thought it would help). I am angry at not being prepared for my escape. This is wasting time. And I am the Sam Becket of time. UGH!

The cycle calms me down. Until I see a digestive biscuit someone thrown in to the road.

“Is someone having a bloody joke?!” I wheeze.

On the upside I went to put the bike away in the garage and saw this…

My garlic!

Tamwar will be thrilled! Must remember to tap on the school window when next at Disraeli and wave it at him. Not weird or creepy at all. No. It is follow up!

So, maybe that is the lesson? I left the garlic. I forgot about it….it grew and was fine…

*throws a packet of raisens in the lounge and slams the lounge door shut, hides under breakfast bar in kitchen with new Caitlan Moran book*….they’ll be fine…

The evening got better. Husband cleared out the stack of Cd’s on the Cd player and found my John Denver Cd.

“YESSS!” I squeal, delighted “My John Denver CD! Lets put it on!!”

“No” Says Smudge.”No. it will wake the kids”.

“Don’t be silly” I say. “Lets play it quietly”

Smudge “It’s not that. They will wake to my screaming”.


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7 Responses to Nick nack mummy had a paddy whack

  1. Alex says:

    Thank you for making me laugh out loud – thank goodness for you. xxx

  2. nisha4017 says:

    Love the blog. Glad to hear it isn’t just that has melt downs in front of the kids!!! Well done on the garlic though.

  3. bonniecroft says:

    has that man of yours got NO taste. How can he not like John Denver !!!!!!!! shame on him .

  4. Pamela says:

    I am loving this blog!! fab entry, this is the true grit of motherhood 😉 xxxx

  5. aubrey says:

    Love this story…have to side with Smudge on the John Denver though.

  6. Sam Evans says:

    Loved the bit where one of the kids told you that you missed a bit. Nice blog Han, very funny x

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