Ah remembered today that the whole point of writing 'Mum Versus Toddler' was because my friend came over last week. She is a very strict mum - big on boundaries, discipline and routine so she was pretty shocked to see how I am raising The Toddler and how he just wanders around doing his own thing. She actually asked me if he was a Social Experiment. It was brilliant. Okay, so she was joking but part of her meant it and I loved it. It was the funniest thing I'd heard for days.
I meant to write my whole blog about it but I went and bloody forgot! That's intelligence-after-children for you. They definitely take out some brain cells with the placenta.
Anyway, the truth is YES. The Toddler is a kind of Social Experiment in that I am interested to see if he turns out okay without me being clingy, naggy and strict on him. In essence - non-parenting. I'm so ready to jump on the other two that it will be most intriguing to find out what happens with The Toddler. I bet he turns out the best.
All this is said tongue-in-cheek of course. I'm not like that couple who are raising their child non-gender specific or whatever bollocks it's called. The child's grandparents for pete's sake don't even know if the kid is male or female. I understand that the parents don't want to put the social norm of pink for girls/ trains for boys stuff on the child but IT'S NATURE!!!! (Unless of course you count The Tomboy who is out there on her own. Gender-creative I like to call it.). Surely the child will feel that having a gender is wrong? It's been forced to keep its gender a secret? That's a parenting disaster waiting to happen, I'm sure. Which is great for me because it will make my fuck ups not look so bad.
In the future, if anybody blames The Toddler's behavioural problems on me, at least I can say that he was brought up knowing that he was a boy. Even though he'll probably end up in therapy with all the gender-neutral kids. He's got me for his mother, after all.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Saturday, 25 June 2011
Mum Versus Toddler
I have messed up. Big stylie. My friends have been warning me for two and a half years - but have I listened? Have I hell. Yes, I admit it - I have created a monster. A beastie in the shape of The Toddler.
Okay, so in my defence, he is my last baby and as much as I complain about being a mum, there is a side to me that is a bit suckylala. I feel sorry for the Toddler because, in position of third child, he doesn't really get much. His toys don't have batteries, he never goes to Music With Mum, he gets dragged around shops and he is ignored. And because he is in the unenviable position of lowest on the ladder, I have let him get away with murder. He does whatever he wants, when he wants. Basically because I can't be arsed parenting a little one anymore and it makes my life easier.
Two & a half years in and I am paying the price. I have ignored the warning signs and the advice of my friends. The Toddler has become the Freddy Kruger of two year olds. I am fighting the Losing Battle Of Control. It is Mum Versus Toddler - and he is winning.
In military or police operations, there is something called Rules Of Engagement. The ROE determine when, where or how force shall be used. The British Military and NATO have very clear Rules. They are set in stone to provide a consistent, workable standard in avoiding major crisis. I suppose when it comes to parenting a child, there should be very specific Rules Of Parenting set in place too. For example:
RULES OF PARENTING
1. Don't fetch and carry everything for child.
2. Don't let them play with scissors, screwdrivers, razors or hammers.
3. Always enforce discipline when child hits, scratches, shouts or bites.
4. Never let child have the remote control.
5. Faking memory loss to get out of clubs/parties is not acceptable.
6. Take photographs of child.
7. Do not let them touch absolutely everything.
8. Never steal the child's money.
9. Don't make up stuff because you don't understand their homework.
10. Avoid, at all cost, child being in charge.
However, in the history of military operations, there have been certain Rules Of Engagement failures, so there are bound to be such fuck-ups in parenting too. And I am a prime example. To be fair, my friends have mocked me but they have never actually given me a copy of the Rules Of Parenting. I blame them first and foremost. I blame The Husband second for not being around more.
The Toddler, at this current time, is pretty unmanageable. Having two older siblings he is picking up tongue pulling, shouting and words like "stupid" and "idiot". Although it's really cute when he says "Disgusting Bieber" instead of "Justin Bieber" as an insult.
My friends are like "See I told you so", but The Husband is not finding it so funny. He is shocked at the weekend when The Toddler performs or pulls a fast one. The way he reacts depends on if he is after The Special Love but often he is not very happy with me.
But you know what - I'm coping. The Toddler has just started nursery and I'm thinking that they can deal with him. They can teach him the proper way to behave then deliver him back to me. As long as I don't have to pay him any attention, I'm fine with that. Or it will be Mum Versus Nursery pretty damn soon.
Okay, so in my defence, he is my last baby and as much as I complain about being a mum, there is a side to me that is a bit suckylala. I feel sorry for the Toddler because, in position of third child, he doesn't really get much. His toys don't have batteries, he never goes to Music With Mum, he gets dragged around shops and he is ignored. And because he is in the unenviable position of lowest on the ladder, I have let him get away with murder. He does whatever he wants, when he wants. Basically because I can't be arsed parenting a little one anymore and it makes my life easier.
Two & a half years in and I am paying the price. I have ignored the warning signs and the advice of my friends. The Toddler has become the Freddy Kruger of two year olds. I am fighting the Losing Battle Of Control. It is Mum Versus Toddler - and he is winning.
In military or police operations, there is something called Rules Of Engagement. The ROE determine when, where or how force shall be used. The British Military and NATO have very clear Rules. They are set in stone to provide a consistent, workable standard in avoiding major crisis. I suppose when it comes to parenting a child, there should be very specific Rules Of Parenting set in place too. For example:
RULES OF PARENTING
1. Don't fetch and carry everything for child.
2. Don't let them play with scissors, screwdrivers, razors or hammers.
3. Always enforce discipline when child hits, scratches, shouts or bites.
4. Never let child have the remote control.
5. Faking memory loss to get out of clubs/parties is not acceptable.
6. Take photographs of child.
7. Do not let them touch absolutely everything.
8. Never steal the child's money.
9. Don't make up stuff because you don't understand their homework.
10. Avoid, at all cost, child being in charge.
However, in the history of military operations, there have been certain Rules Of Engagement failures, so there are bound to be such fuck-ups in parenting too. And I am a prime example. To be fair, my friends have mocked me but they have never actually given me a copy of the Rules Of Parenting. I blame them first and foremost. I blame The Husband second for not being around more.
The Toddler, at this current time, is pretty unmanageable. Having two older siblings he is picking up tongue pulling, shouting and words like "stupid" and "idiot". Although it's really cute when he says "Disgusting Bieber" instead of "Justin Bieber" as an insult.
My friends are like "See I told you so", but The Husband is not finding it so funny. He is shocked at the weekend when The Toddler performs or pulls a fast one. The way he reacts depends on if he is after The Special Love but often he is not very happy with me.
But you know what - I'm coping. The Toddler has just started nursery and I'm thinking that they can deal with him. They can teach him the proper way to behave then deliver him back to me. As long as I don't have to pay him any attention, I'm fine with that. Or it will be Mum Versus Nursery pretty damn soon.
Saturday, 18 June 2011
Why I Am Ignoring You
I owe you an apology. I haven't been blogging. Maybe that's a good thing. Perhaps you feel a need to read my blog to atone for something. Or to check that you're not parenting as badly as me. Anyway, I'm sorry.
But it's not my fault you see.
It is because of Twitter.
It has taken over my life.
I know a lot of you don't 'get' it, but really, it's what I have always been looking for. I worship at the Church Of Twitter now. I bow at the Altar Of Tweet. I drink from the Cup Of #Hashtag.
I'll explain it: You write about stuff and you follow & are followed by people you don't know. So you end up making friends with folk you will probably never meet. Which suits me just fine because I am not as funny in real life. And I get to chat while I am wearing my comfys in bed. With bad hair. That's how I roll these days. I do not deal in real. Because if I did, my head would spin 360 degrees like Linda Blair.
Twitter has opened a new world to me. I now understand the importance of the #hashtag and why it appears on Sky News. There are millions of people tweeting. The Husband, of course, is not one of them. He hates it. He has no desire to hear about it, understand it, take interest in it. He now understands how I feel about his work.
Twitterville is also a place where paranoia doesn't exist for me, unlike the playground. I don't respond to everything and people don't have to respond to me. Except when someone 'unfollows' me - that I can't deal with. Yet it's okay for me to 'unfollow' if someone is boring or they piss me off or they go on about how they love Jesus.
Oh and a funny thing happened the other day. I wrote a bit of a cheeky tweet about Joss Stone and some random person wrote me "Shut The Fuck Up" which freaked me out for a nanosecond then I saw the humour in it. It was the best advice I've had in years (but then I quickly blocked them).
Anyway, it's interesting to see the different types of ways that people use Twitter. I, of course, am hilarious. And very good at mashing my hilarity into 140 characters.
It's like how Beyonce has Sasha Fierce or Keith from The Prodigy has Scary Man, I have created an alter-ego on Twitter with @MinistryOfMum. She is funny, quick witted and charming. Nothing like me at all. And that's precisely why I'll stick with Twitter. Because in real life I'm a bit of a Twit.
Dedicated to @The_M0therShip for ruining my marriage and probably my life
But it's not my fault you see.
It is because of Twitter.
It has taken over my life.
I know a lot of you don't 'get' it, but really, it's what I have always been looking for. I worship at the Church Of Twitter now. I bow at the Altar Of Tweet. I drink from the Cup Of #Hashtag.
I'll explain it: You write about stuff and you follow & are followed by people you don't know. So you end up making friends with folk you will probably never meet. Which suits me just fine because I am not as funny in real life. And I get to chat while I am wearing my comfys in bed. With bad hair. That's how I roll these days. I do not deal in real. Because if I did, my head would spin 360 degrees like Linda Blair.
Twitter has opened a new world to me. I now understand the importance of the #hashtag and why it appears on Sky News. There are millions of people tweeting. The Husband, of course, is not one of them. He hates it. He has no desire to hear about it, understand it, take interest in it. He now understands how I feel about his work.
Twitterville is also a place where paranoia doesn't exist for me, unlike the playground. I don't respond to everything and people don't have to respond to me. Except when someone 'unfollows' me - that I can't deal with. Yet it's okay for me to 'unfollow' if someone is boring or they piss me off or they go on about how they love Jesus.
Oh and a funny thing happened the other day. I wrote a bit of a cheeky tweet about Joss Stone and some random person wrote me "Shut The Fuck Up" which freaked me out for a nanosecond then I saw the humour in it. It was the best advice I've had in years (but then I quickly blocked them).
Anyway, it's interesting to see the different types of ways that people use Twitter. I, of course, am hilarious. And very good at mashing my hilarity into 140 characters.
It's like how Beyonce has Sasha Fierce or Keith from The Prodigy has Scary Man, I have created an alter-ego on Twitter with @MinistryOfMum. She is funny, quick witted and charming. Nothing like me at all. And that's precisely why I'll stick with Twitter. Because in real life I'm a bit of a Twit.
Dedicated to @The_M0therShip for ruining my marriage and probably my life
Thursday, 9 June 2011
How To...Avoid Bedtime
I watched 'How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days' and thought I'd tinker in a little 'How To' list myself. Can I just say MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY IS SO HOT! The first points 1-4 would not be applicable to him, of course. They are only relevant to The Husband when I am trying to avoid Special Love. Which is quite often. And will certainly be tonight. The Husband is out at an Awards Ceremony which he insists is very hard work with all the networking that has to be done when in fact it's just a jolly with free wine. Bastard. He will miss the last train then come in smelling of booze expecting a jolly with his wife. NOT GONNA HAPPEN. Anyway, he's left bedtime all to me and that's how I came up with the idea. I have just been in the horror movie which is putting 3 kids to bed. Nightmare On My Street. Or The Bed Time Project. Or some other crap title that I am trying to make funny.
HOW TO AVOID BEDTIME (FOR ME):
1. Make way too much noise on way to bed thus waking small child who will almost certainly want to get in bed with you.
2. Decide that you 'need to talk' once in bed, that way ensuring immediate zone out and slumber from The Husband.
3. Pray that a child has a nightmare or is sick. Or you think it is absolutely necessary to call NHS Direct for a potential splinter.
4. Make out you are really interested in what's on the telly while he is climbing the stairs. Even if it is something boring like the News or that new sitcom with the lady from Frasier.
5. Fake coldsore by pinching lip and Pritt Stick.
HOW TO AVOID BEDTIME (FOR THE CHILDREN):
1. Ask for just 'one more book' in such a sickly sweet way that your mother will think she is starving you of great classics if she doesn't read another Curious George. Which is at least 3 pages too long.
2. Refuse to clean teeth. Or do clean teeth but spit out a toothpaste/saliva mixture all over the floor. It will guarantee at least six minutes of telling off.
3. Start coughing and having a headache even though you have just been running around like a looney.
4. Wake up little brother by shouting so that Mummy has to go settle him and you can carry on playing Top Trumps.
5. Be suddenly afraid of The Gruffalo.
Oh and I owe you all an apology. I've not blogged in ages. I am blaming Twitter. It's pulled me in when I said I would never do it. I love it. I will sacrifice a child for it. Please follow me @MinistryOfMum or there will be a curse put on you, involving putting my 3 kids to bed forever.
HOW TO AVOID BEDTIME (FOR ME):
1. Make way too much noise on way to bed thus waking small child who will almost certainly want to get in bed with you.
2. Decide that you 'need to talk' once in bed, that way ensuring immediate zone out and slumber from The Husband.
3. Pray that a child has a nightmare or is sick. Or you think it is absolutely necessary to call NHS Direct for a potential splinter.
4. Make out you are really interested in what's on the telly while he is climbing the stairs. Even if it is something boring like the News or that new sitcom with the lady from Frasier.
5. Fake coldsore by pinching lip and Pritt Stick.
HOW TO AVOID BEDTIME (FOR THE CHILDREN):
1. Ask for just 'one more book' in such a sickly sweet way that your mother will think she is starving you of great classics if she doesn't read another Curious George. Which is at least 3 pages too long.
2. Refuse to clean teeth. Or do clean teeth but spit out a toothpaste/saliva mixture all over the floor. It will guarantee at least six minutes of telling off.
3. Start coughing and having a headache even though you have just been running around like a looney.
4. Wake up little brother by shouting so that Mummy has to go settle him and you can carry on playing Top Trumps.
5. Be suddenly afraid of The Gruffalo.
Oh and I owe you all an apology. I've not blogged in ages. I am blaming Twitter. It's pulled me in when I said I would never do it. I love it. I will sacrifice a child for it. Please follow me @MinistryOfMum or there will be a curse put on you, involving putting my 3 kids to bed forever.
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