Hairy women, clean houses.

Sitting in a clean house is quite disconcerting. Not having to alter eyeline so cant see things that I havent done, is quite a relaxing experience. This must be what Daily Mail Readers feel like. Obviously, I cannot feel what that feels like, as have not shaved legs or exfoliated, and am not sitting in peach satin pyjamas from BHS-and hairy women do not read Daily Mail. Or Daily Mail doesnt want them to. Any, I digress.

So here is my day after my little pity party this morning. Since I must have depressed whoever read it. First of all, went to cafe. Rachel was beautiful, and charming, and well behaved. I forgot about mess.

Then my stepson came over, pretending to visit, but actually avoiding flatmate, and trying not to let on. We had nice time. I pretended I didnt have a problem with his tattoo(seriously- he has Techno tattooed on his arm- who has a body mutilation that lasts a lifetime done in commemoration of a music genre that has only been around for 15 years?). He told me the carefully edited highlights of what he got up to at the festival we were both at. I told him the carefully edited highlights of mine. Then he found out what had happened in house this morning, and allowed himself to be Rachels ‘patient’, ‘pet’, ‘storyteller’ and ‘all round bitch’- while I cleaned up.  Because he is a darling darling boy. And however much he thinks he is grown up, club promoter, general wideboy, he is still my 14 year old- who used to deliberately lose his school shoes(at a cost of £30 a pair!!!!)…..

And here I sit, in an actual clean house, very relaxed(relaxation possibly aided..)..and the day ended well. Shame the middle bit was shit.

PS Am ebaying cat if he does not stop pooing in protest in various places.

Er..think am going bonkers…

After spending last night, and all of today, with Rachel appearing to be on deaths door. She woke up from her nap like she had been dipped in amphetamines, tearing about the street after Maisie and Finn.

Had James not been here this afternoon, while my little invalid was in deep slumber, and then witnessed first hand her forlorn little requests for grapes and juice, there would be no witnesses to it.

THis raises a question- if a child is ill, but only their parents have seen it….were they ill at all…is it all in the perception? Think I desperately need sleep and tea…lots of tea.

Did someone replace my child with Satan?

So apparently, I am a ‘mummy blogger’(according to the mouth of Rupert Murdoch that is The Times). I am assuming that means I am expected to dispense sage parenting advice, passed through generations- and share the marvels that are parenting, while impressing you all with my ability to be a domestic goddess, eternal nurturer, and general all round Madonna.(the first one, not the one who collects babies from the developing world, and boy toys from LA).
Well, it’s a good job I didnt update yesterday then. Because at precisely 2pm, I truly believed  someone had swapped my child with Satan over the weekend, and left a foundling with me, whose sole raison d’etre was to send me to the loony bin.

Now dont get me wrong, having the company of a fiercely unpredictable, smart cookie like Rachel has its benefits. BUT when your energy is flagging, or she is out of kilter- it becomes an endurance test they wouldnt inflict on prisoners of Guantanemo. When both happen at the same time, you have a situation which they couldnt show on film, because the results would be too frightening.

While Rachel says she is not a ‘feminist’, she clearly has the nature of someone who doesnt understand that there are limitations on what she can do/have. So from the early morning wake up call of ‘Mummy mummy mummy WAKE UP WAKE UP I WANT CEREAL DORA CBEEBIES’, to the screaming tantrum because I put the spoon in the cereal, instead of handing it to her… right through to the ‘I peed on the floor cos I couldnt be bothered’(for the third time in one morning), and I hate you, you are a stinky meanbag, and I want to go to the park, even though its bedtime- we were in a war of attrition.

You can go and buy books, or watch tv shows with that muppet Supernanny(who by the way doesnt have kids), and you will learn about clear boundaries, following through, remaining calm, and generally being an uber cool, detatched, controlled, caregiver- delicately nurturing your offspring with clear expectations and a firm loving hand.

You would be better off watching an old 50′s thriller, with someone diffusing a bomb, and not knowing whether the red wire or the blue wire, will be the one which sets off the explosion which will consume them into a fiery ball, and leave their liver hanging off the shop over the road. This is more akin to parenting a toddler.

Remaining calm, and communicating clearly, becomes quite difficult when you are faced with a two year old, screaming because her peach isnt green, and has a bone in it. Ah, I hear you say- offer an apple. But when the offer of an apple, is met with a meltdown beyond hiroshima, because she ‘WANTS A PEACH’- you begin to see a problem. When this screaming fit, is only one of several zillion screaming fits, for equally bizarre, and unrelated reasons, the sanity of any normal person begins to wear. When you combine that with the fact that I am not a ‘mummy blogger’, I am in fact just a normal woman who blogs, who happens to have a child,  and who was still slightly delicate from a demanding weekend in muddy fields, we begin to see a problem.

You cant even take the lazy way out, and give in, because when the request is that mummy makes it stop raining, so we can go to the park- my powers are limited. While i believe myself to be a very capable intelligent woman, I think attempting to create sunshine would be mixing up my ambitions and capabilities somewhat.

So, after two days of this seemingly endless war of attrition, I was counting the minutes till 8am this morning, when my daughter would be lovingly left in the capable hands, of those angels in blue, at her nursery, who swear she has never had a toilet accident, and is the most well mannered little girl in Christendom. And here I am, ‘mummy blogging’ and contemplating clearing the carnage left by my two year old devil.

But with the help of Dora the Explorer on a loop, playdoh, scissors, card, gluesticks, a box of teabags, and many friends on the end of the phone, I made it through alive. I shouted slightly more than I would like, and I dont think any parenting experts are going to be using me as a case study.  I wont get a medal, like the veterans of the Israel/Egypt war of attrition, and I have achieved about as much as they did. I will relish my baby free day, and by tomorrow will be pining for my little girl to be home- having completely forgotten how rubbish yesterday was.  Selective amnesia is the thing which allows us to carry on, and not sell our children on ebay(that and a handy rule from ebay, that you cant sell your child using their auction site).

So here is my ‘mummy blog’ for the day. And I am sure that I will come over all supernanny for the next installment.