Parenting Helpline UK.

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Please choose from one of the following options.

Press 1. If you have just told a child they have ‘UNTIL THE COUNT OF THREE’ but have no idea what to say next.

Press 2. If you have banned all screens and now your children are driving you crazy.

Press 3. If you wish to talk to a grown-up and have an actual conversation.

Press 4. To hear a soothing voice count to ten and tell you it's all Going to be OK.

Press 5. If your child has just given up their daytime nap and you require counselling.

Press 6. If you are at a supermarket self-service check out with your children, and you require urgent assistance.

Press 7.  If you need an emergency delivery of wine.

Press 8.  If you are trapped under a pile of laundry.

Press 0 to hear these options again.

I dont want to play anymore

'Let me go over this one more time.   THIS is the car section, ok? Ok. Hang on a minute that’s a tractor? The farm area is over there, do you see where I lovingly placed all the farm animals, into neat little groups for you to play with? I know they are going for a lovely drive, but they are on the train track. WHY ARE YOU BREAKING UP MY TRAIN TRACK?? Well yes, of course TECHNICALLY it’s your train track but I’m the one that has spent twenty minutes building it. Don’t you think it would be more sensible if the Lego men were on the train (breath …count to 10 …) INSTEAD OF ON MY TRAIN TRACK?!!!!'

My three year old: 'Mummy, do you need a Time Out?'

 

 

 

'Try' Harder

Mini Rugby in the park 

‘This was NOT how it was meant to be!’ I say to myself as I push the double buggy towards the park.

The Plan:

I’ll spend a couple of blissful hours by myself on Saturday mornings, catching up on housework (Watching Saturday morning television) I will sign them up for a whole term of kids Rugby, and convince their Father this is a wonderful bonding opportunity for him to have with his children.

The reality:

I got over excited and signed them up for THREE TERMS of mini rugby, only to be told by my husband that he has to work EVERY Saturday for the foreseeable future.

I am wallowing in self-pity, when I glance at my children sitting in the buggy wearing their Rugby kits and looking adorable. Maybe it won’t be that baa ..

‘Arggghhhhhhh!’

I’m thrown forward with such velocity that I wish the buggy had been fitted with an airbag.

My son has reached up, and pressed the button on the handle bar that activates the breaks.

They think this is the funniest thing that has EVER happened.

‘I AM REALLY SERIOUS!! DO NOT PRESS THE BREAKS AGAIN OR …’

They are laughing so much they can’t hear me anyway.

We finally arrive at the group.  The five minute walk has taken approximately half an hour due to the number of unexpected emergency stops.  And I have whiplash.

Current status: Not coping. In the slightest.

The Games   

All of the children are running in different directions and displaying the same kind of indecision that's been recently exhibited by the England Rugby team.

All the parents are desperately trying to herd them in the right direction. I am shoved out of the way by a fiercely competitive Father holding a crying child under his arm. ‘You never hear Chris Robshaw complaining he needs a rice cake in the middle of a game do you?’ I hear him say.

I’m hungover and the sound of twenty parents ‘encouraging’ their little angels at once hurts.

Another worn out looking father runs past me chasing his son, who has taken another child’s ball.  He turns towards me looking like he might cry.  ‘It’s been a very long term hasn’t it?’

I nod. It has.

My children have bolted in two different directions. My daughter has found a ball and is running full pelt across the park. I hear her shout ‘TRRRRY!’ so loudly at a woman walking her dog that she jumps back in alarm.

My son, really getting into the spirit of things, has raced over to the other end of the park … and sat down.

I hear him shout, ‘Mummy is it snack time now?’

Luckily, at that moment the coaches call all the children over for their favourite game.

The Mr. Men. Game

Mr. Fast - all the children run as fast as they can in a circle.  MissChief lies on the floor to look at the clouds.

Mr. Slow - they all run in slow-motion. MissChief finds a packet of biscuits in the back of the buggy and hands them out to all the children.

Mrs. I’d rather be anywhere else?

Mr. Spin … my son takes this as a cue to rugby tackle one of the coaches, nearly taking him out.

‘Mrs. Hungover and over it?’ I say this last comment out loud by mistake and all the parents look at me.  Well this is awkward.

Kicking practice

‘Can you all point to your ball?’

My son points at a tree.

My daughter points to her nose.

‘Now after three, I want you all to kick your ball then score a ‘Try’ over here by these cones,’ the coach informs the children.

One …Two …Three

‘GO GO GOOOOO!!’ I hear a Mum shout at her two year old son. He stands on the spot picking his nose.

Jeeez Calm down! Scary Mumzilla lady... He’s only a chi ….

‘NOOOO!!!’ I see MissChief kicking her ball in the wrong direction ‘PICK UP THE BALL AND RUUUUUUUUN.  NO NOT THAT WAY! THIS WAAAAAY! COME ON! HURRY UUUUP!!!’

The scary Mumzilla lady looks at me as if to say  ... ‘Wow!’

What’s the time Mr. Wolf?

‘ONE O CLOCK,’ all the children take a tiny step forward

‘What’s the time Mr. Wolf?’

‘ONE O CLOCK!’

We are going to be here forever!

‘What’s the time Mr. Wolf?’

‘Is it beer o’clock?’ I say out loud, laughing at my own joke.

Everyone goes quiet and looks at me … Again.

‘Don’t you mean COFFEE o’clock?’ The Dad next to me asks whilst looking at his watch.

‘Hahaha, of course!!’ I laugh nervously. ‘Yes. Coffee. Ha, ha! It’s way too early for beer!’

Great everyone now thinks I’m an alcoholic. Why can’t I keep these thoughts to myself! A cheeky G&T would go down very nicely right now though!

The Assault course.

20 Toddlers ‘queue’ up to take their turn on the ASSAULT COURSE OF DOOOOOM.  The words of the Unmumsy Mum echo in my head.

“THIS SHIT’S ABOUT TO GET REAL”

I get down to his level and look my son in the eye. ‘It’s going to be tough out there. Will you help your little Sister?’

‘Yes Mummy of course I will.’

Awww! He really loves her.

He loves winning more and sprints straight past her, nearly knocking her flying!

MissChief throws herself on the floor, distraught that her brother has run off without her.

The next ten minutes is a blur. There was screaming, pushing, biting, shoving … and an unfortunate incident involving several children and a Mum stuck in a tunnel.

MissChief, having caught up with her big brother, is now holding onto his leg and refusing to let go even though he is trying to kick her off him.  He gives up and jumps over the hurdles with her still holding on for dear life, her head bouncing on the grass.  I’m secretly quite proud of their determination as he drags himself to the line to score his ‘Try’, with her still attached to his ankle.

It’s all over and we head towards the gate.

They are having an adorable little chat in the double buggy. I am feeling smug and wonderful. Yes, my children will be rugby champions. I imagine myself in a new dress looking positively radiant for the cameras …

I suddenly come to a grinding halt.

‘My darling?’

My son looks up at me sweetly from the buggy. ‘Yes Mummy?’

‘STOP PRESSING THE BREAK BUTTON!!!!!!!’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tooth Fairy Is Having Issues

This post is written by Ellie, can you tell we are Sisters?


The Tooth Fairy Is Having Issues

My son got home from his first school residential trip last night. While he was away his wobbly tooth, which had steadfastly refused to budge for weeks, had chosen this time to finally come out. Obviously the Tooth Fairy could not possibly be expected to know he was away so he totally understood why she hadn’t left a £1 under his pillow in exchange for the tooth. He wrote her a heartbreakingly gorgeous letter (complete with a drawing showing her where he had been), explaining that it was ok that she hadn’t come before and apologising for losing the tooth on his way home.

Well, she was of course going to visit without fail now he was at home.

At 7am this morning the Tooth Fairy woke with a start and sat bolt upright in her little Fairy bed. Silently she freaked out and tried not to wake the other fairies up. She regretted drinking that wine with her fairy Husband last night. She had forgotten to do something very, very important.

She searched madly through her little purse. Failing to find anything there apart from receipts and fairy dust, she checked her Husband’s wallet, and his trouser pockets, his coat pocket, his shoes and all the other places he left keys and coins. She could not find any change. All she could find was a £20 note. Her Husband looked at her aghast.  She flew in to my son’s room and managed to find her beautiful letter, although she did have to dive quite dramatically when he unexpectedly turned over to face her. But bless him, he was still asleep after a few late nights on his trip. She slipped the £20 note under his pillow and flew away back to her fairy bedroom.

The Tooth Fairy could not believe that she had given him a £20 note. I mean, she could not have his heart broken, but £20???! What would this mean for future business arrangements with these children? There was another little boy who lived in that house who hadn’t lost any teeth…yet.

The Global Tooth Fairy Economy couldn’t possibly support such an unprecedented rise in repayments. What would the other Tooth Fairies say when they found out?! They would never speak to her again.

She suddenly remembered a loose change pot in her fairy kitchen. Time was running out. The boy’s brother was up. Could she do it without being seen? She managed to get £2 worth of 20p’s and wrapped them in a napkin. She flew back to the boy’s room and got ‘her’ £20 note back. She JUST got the little napkin bundle under his pillow before he woke. The Tooth Fairy crept out of his bedroom on all fours.

“MUM! The Tooth Fairy has been!!!”

She banged her head on the door frame and managed to fly out the window back to fairyland just in time.

This Tooth Fairy is considering resigning. There is way too much stress in this job. She will talk to her Husband immediately and hand over her wings.

                                                                 


        

Odd Socks

We have just left the house. All of us are wearing odd socks (In fact I think my son is wearing MY socks) we are late for pre-school, I've forgotten the rain cover and I haven’t even had coffee yet… It’s THAT type of a morning.

It’s freezing and wet. Where’s the damn sun gone?

‘I really should have remembered your raincoat’ (I say to no-one in particular as I often do). My son who talks to my daughter like my mother talks to foreign people… LOUD, over pronounced and VERY slowly says ‘MUMMY FORGOT YOUR RAINCOAT! SHE REMEMBERED MINE... BUT NOT YOURS.’

She replies ‘Oh.’

My Lil Man translates back to me ‘Mummy? She says she is FREEZING, ICE COLD and REEAALLY NEEDS her COAT’

’Did she? Well, I think she will be ok as we haven’t got far to go’ I reassure him.

Shaking his head he says with a very serious look on his face ‘No Mummy She Won’t’ and then shouts (so loud that a group of Mums with their quiet, appropriately dressed for the cold children can hear.)

‘Mummy says you ABSOLUTELY DEFINATELY CANNOT have your coat!” This triggers my daughter (who definitely shares her Mothers sense of drama) to have a screaming outburst which involves her crying ‘I’m COLD, I’m COLD!’ Over and over and over again.

Aware of the looks I’m getting, I panic and play the snack card way too early in the day ‘Darling do you want some raisins?’ She immediately stops crying.

I take a deep breath and reach into my bag for ….Oh no …Oh NO… Oh NOOO!

Lil Man gets off the buggy board and walks to the front of the buggy, he sympathetically puts his hands on his sister’s shoulders and shouts inches from her face…

‘MUMMY HAS FORGOTTON YOUR RAISINS’.

Oh s**t!

MissChief bursts in to tears and screams.

‘Don’t wowwy I will look after you’ my son says holding her hand.

Yes that’s probably for the best.

 

  

3 FOR 2

It’s Friday! I’m standing in the cosmetics aisle in Boots.  I am ALONE. CHILDLESS. And mildly traumatized after dropping my screaming daughter off at pre-school.

‘She’ll settle in soon,’ they said … 3 WEEKS AGO!!

The morning started productively enough. I sat in a café for an hour writing a list of the things I need to achieve (as opposed to going home and actually doing them), and drank an extremely motivating full fat cappuccino. With a teeny-weeny chocolate brownie on the side.

And then I find myself in the 3 For 2 section, looking at all the shiny boxes. I glance at my tired reflection in one of the mirrors. 

 

‘Where do I start?’ I say to myself with a sigh.

I choose a combination of youth enhancing day cream (OPTIMISTIC), light coverage foundation (DENIAL), and enhanced anti-aging serum (REALITY), and head for the till … grabbing an extra-large bag of Maltesers on the way.

‘I’m afraid one of these products isn’t included in the 3 For 2 offer’, the shop assistant says.

I look at the growing queue of people behind me and race to swap the foundation.

Scanning the products I pick up a pot of early defense cream, but put it straight back down as I realise it is WAY too late for that.

Exfoliator? Seriously? Who’s got time for that s**t?

I look back at the line of impatient faces glaring at me. Arghhh!

I grab a miniscule tube of ADVANCED eye cream, run back to the cashier and she scans the new product.

‘This one is not in the deal either!’

There is much tutting and sighing behind me.

I can feel my skin ageing from the stress.  I run back to the other side of the shop and grab a face peel kit … I am desperate.

I hand it over. Oh no. What does that look mean?!

‘That one DOES qualify, but you won’t get your free gift. Will that be ok?’

‘I don’t need a free giiii’  ... oooooooh. I spot the free gift display.  Dammit. I DO want that!

‘I’ll be right back,’ I say looking at the floor and rushing back to the cosmetics. 

As I return to the till for the millionth time a customer standing behind me says, ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’

Hmmm, did I detect a hint of sarcasm in that comment?

I pay and power walk to the exit.  I swear I hear someone clapping as I leave.

I look at the receipt.

‘HOW MUCH’?

S E V E NT Y P O U N D S!!!!

At least my skin will look good during the divorce proceedings! I start walking away and suddenly stop. Guilt takes over.

I wrap my face with my scarf and skulk back into the shop, totally disguised. Or so I think.

‘YOU AGAIN?’ the cashier BOOMS across the shop.

To the utter horror of the waiting customers I am beckoned to the front of the queue

‘Maybe you want to serve these people first?’ I ask sheepishly. 

The woman behind the till ignores me completely.

‘What’s the problem Madam?’

Now? Or with life in general?

‘I would like to return some of these’, I reply, emptying the bag on the counter.

‘Which ones?’

‘All of them?’  I whisper.

She picks up the Maltesers.  I grab them back. ‘Apart from these’.

I dare you!

The exasperated cashier scans each product back through, but the till doesn’t seem to be working. She is getting more and more agitated.

I can hear two ladies behind me complaining very loudly about me jumping the queue.

I lean forward. Just to put a few more inches between me and ‘them’.

‘This scanner is just not working  ... let me call the Manager to help’.

I lay my head on the counter. Kill me now!

I am about to offer everyone a Malteser, when the refund goes through …

I leave the shop as quickly as possible. Without looking back!

‘Great. That was child-free time well spent,’ I say to myself as I march down the road.

‘Onwards and Upwards’ I sing in an over optimistic voice … Oh my God! Did I really just say that? I sound like my mother!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daddy's Home

Its late afternoon, we were meant to leave the house over an hour ago but I have been far too busy ‘tidying up’ (trying to extract toys from behind the radiator using a pirate sword, unbelievably frustrating).

Lil man is tired, bored and bouncing off the walls (onto the sofa). MissChief has done THAT kind of nappy that goes up her back. Yay.

She is running around the sitting room whilst I desperately try to pick her up. I catch her but she manages to wriggle free and grabs the curtain with her hands covered in Sh**.

‘COME HERE darling let go of ....’ My little 'darling' looks at me and smiles sweetly before pulling the curtain, which pulls the ENTIRE rail down with it.

‘ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!’ This pushes me somewhat OVER THE EDGE and I shout, loudly  ‘NOOOOOO!! Come here RIGHT NOW!’ and at this exact moment my son says,

‘Don't worry Mummy! Daddy's home’

I don't even give him time to put his keys in the front door.   I pick stinky MissChief up (who's now crying dramatically) and I hold her at arm’s length. I throw open the front door and I aim her towards him …

‘PLEASE!! Just Take Her’

Obviously so alarmed by all the shouting and the crying child covered in sh** being held inches from his face, he doesn't say anything for a second or two. THEN he speaks…

‘Erm hello, I'm just knocking on a few doors to talk about the wonderful work we do at the N.S.P.C.C. The National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children’

Ground.Swallow.Me.Up.Now

Lil man who’s standing next to me says ‘YOU are NOT my Daddy ARE you’

Except the ‘ARE you’ sounded like…’ARE you??’

I can’t speak …

Eventually, I give him my best Mary Poppins smile and inform him I do a lot for charity, wish him good day then slam the door.

‘Quick!’ We ALL run to the window, huddle together and peer out to make sure he’s gone.

I pray he doesn’t trip over the recycling box that is overflowing with beer and wine bottles as he walks up the path (2 weeks’ worth AND we had people over ok??) 

He trips over the recycling box as he walks up the path.

Of course he does.