All you Moaning Myrtles out there who love nothing more than droning on about how mothers are so put upon, citing endless tales of chores, chauffeuring kids around, the drudgery of a humdrum… Listen up.. It gets better.
Some people love nothing more than a good family crisis for anecdotal reasons alone (I’ve been guilty of this myself). Now that my children are older, I think it’s Himself and the boys that are getting the raw deal, being stuck with me.
Although they profess to love me (I get birthday cards that say so), I’m sure there is a little part of them that would love to banish me to Room 101. I hate to admit it, but they’d be right. In truth what I think of as my little idiosyncrasies others might view as evidence of a deeply flawed human being. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but My other half should be canonised for all he puts up with.
If after reading this, you don’t think of Himself as the closest thing to a living saint.. well I just don’t know.
I am guilty as charged of the following crimes against husband and sons.
- My husband brings me a cup of tea in bed every morning. I’m not sure how I wangled that, maybe citing that it was part of the pre-nup. – ‘Thou shalt bring thine wife tea in bed every morning’. I was spoilt growing up, my Dad brought me tea every morning creating a precedence. In fact, I’m a tea-a-holic and insist that whoever makes tea or coffee must make a cup of tea for me also.
- I sing a lot. Being part of a singing group(I don’t like to use the word ‘choir’), I sing Alto parts so even if I sing a well known song, I manage to make it sound like an unrecognisable screech, seriously disturbing. I go around the house headphones on mumbling lyrics. Even the dog scratches at the door to be let out when I start.
- If I do take a fit of cleaning, I dump all their belongings that are strewn around the house on their beds(regardless of whether they’re still in it), causing mayhem as I sometimes get mixed up who owns what. Hoovering outside their room without a care in the world as to what time of the morning it is (I like to sing whilst doing this to drown out the noise of the hoover).
- I put my husband’s golf shoes out in the back if they are mucky. I once left a new pair outside on the window sill and forgot about them until the following week when he went looking for them. Hurricane Emma in the intervening period made sure they were no longer ‘new’ golf shoes.
- I’m a cold creature. I set the heating system to full blast all the time. They turn off the radiators on the sly when I’m not looking and I turn them back on, on the sly, while they’re not looking. This goes on all day. I like to think of it as a nice little family ritual that we’ll all remember fondly some day
- I insist on my teenage sons wearing warm jackets and woolly hats whenever they leave the house. Even in Summer. “Would you not put a coat on you? Its Baltic out there” . Even I don’t understand why I do that, it’s just in my DNA. They ignore me.
- I tell them to take Omega3 all the time. They ignore me.
- I express my displeasure (I rant like the devil incarnate) at the fact that they prefer protein shakes over wholesome home cooked meals. They ignore me. Threatening “You’ll end up with scurvy if they don’t eat more fruit”(actually they are quite the health conscious types now and probably know more than me about nutrition) but that doesn’t stop me preaching. (You may have noticed that the preferred coping mechanism they adopt is to ignore me).
- Now that my eldest son is driving, I’ve reversed the tables, making him drop me to whatever I’m out with the girlies. Obviously alcohol is involved so I can’t drive. Sometimes he picks me up afterwards (he likes driving).
- When preparing Sunday lunch, I like to listen to Micky Bubbles. I think this is the one they find most offensive. I sing along at the top of my voice making the kitchen a no go area. I put on the CD player (this alone they find histerical, not because I’m listening to Michael Bouble but that only old people or the terminally uncool listen to CD’s).
- I constantly change my mind about things. I’m a ditherer. I’m guilty of all those clichés about women. I always want what Himself has ordered in a restaurant and make him swap. I always say I’ll skip desert and then eat most of his.. all the while proclaiming that I’m not enjoying it, just seeing what it tastes like. I could go on…It’s too embarrassing to continue with this list of shame..