worry Archives : Me, Annie Bee.

Little things that were easier in the B.C years.

Anna — Thu, 11 Feb 2016 20:58:00 +0000

Before I start, lots of people seem to have been having a little look at my blog. I have no idea whether you’re enjoying it or not but thank you all the same! Please feel free to share if you like it. If you hate it maybe share with the folk you don’t like. Anyway, back to it. We all enter this parenthood malarky knowing that life will change and likely become more difficult. I don’t know about you but I wasn’t prepared for how difficult the little things would become, the things we take for granted. Leaving the house B.C all I needed to do was make sure I had my game face on, put on some shoes and a coat, grab a bag and leave. Now I have to chase Seth to get his shoes on him. Ask Aoife to put her shoes on. Wrestle Seth into his coat. Ask Aoife to put her shoes on. Manhandle and fold Seth into his buggy. Ask Aoife to put her shoes and coat on. Get my shoes & coat, make sure I’ve got spare nappies/snacks/clothes that are relevant to the trip. Chase the cat to stop him running out of the house. Send Aoife out. Get Seth out. Set alarm and finally leave. No matter how early we start this farce we always end up leaving late. Walking One foot in front of the other you say? Couldn’t be more simple you say? PAAHAHAHAHAHA Seth is at the age where he really isn’t interested in being in his buggy. He wants to walk, every where all the time. As a compromise I let him walk the home stretch of the school run. Alas, it’s all uphill. Hills make me cross at the best of times so walking up one with a toddler doesn’t make my ‘Top 5 best things ever’ list. I have to push the empty buggy with one hand whilst Seth attempts to remove my other from my body in an attempt to touch everything we pass, every wall, every lamppost, every car and more often than not every person. Then he starts to get tired and it’s like trying to walk uphill with one of those goats that faint everytime they are shocked (search fainting goats on Youtube, minutes of fun). I have then have to pick him up and chase the buggy back down the hill (yes I could put the brakes on but my ninja quick rescue skills overtake that logic). Not only am I having to retrieve Seth and his buggy every 10 metres but I must do so whilst taking part in the ‘dog shit slalom’ trying to ensure that Seth’s every faceplant doesn’t land him straight into a massive turd. Having a conversation If I have the audacity to hold a conversation with anyone else in Aoife’s company there’s either the backing track of “mummy, mummy, mummy, mummy…” or very loud, tuneless singing until attention is diverted her way. Phone calls these days go something like this “Hello……Yes I’m fine thanks, how are – don’t pull all the DVDs out. Leave them alone -You? Have you had – get off me- no don’t put the truck in my face- no leave the phone, leave it – a good morning? Oh that’s not too – get off the telly, Seth, do not push the telly over! – too bad. Yes, he’s not napped – LEAVE THE CAT ALONE – he had just had – STOP PUSHING THE TV – had his lunch and now he’s – FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, SETH MAN WILL YOU GET OFF ME THAT HURTS – I’m going to have to go. I’ll see you tonightIt’s like I have a random tic. Full conversations are impossible. Shopping Popping to buy a pint of milk is no longer the simple task it once was. Aoife has to look at the plasters and the toothpaste and the ‘seasonal’ display. She is a marketing dream. Stick anything on a table in the middle of an aisle and she wants to buy it. Seth likes to stick his legs out, really stiff, in an attempt to sweep every item from the bottom shelf in the super market. If I leave him slightly too close to anything he will pull it off. No ifs no buts. It’s an absolute nightmare. This is why I shop at Waitrose now, not because I’m faux middle class but because the aisles are wider so I can dump Seth in the middle of one and get on with my shopping! Sneezing A.D (After delivery) sneezing. You get me yeah?

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Errors of my ways.

Anna — Wed, 10 Feb 2016 13:15:00 +0000

Aoife and I were taking a 10 minute walk home “Mummy, I really need a wee” “You should have gone before we left, we’ll have to walk fast” “I didn’t need to go then but I REALLY need to go now” “I’m afraid there’s not a lot I can do” “But I NEED to go” “I understand that but I can’t do anything about it, do you want to go in a bush?” “TUT NO. I want to go on a toilet” “We’ll be home soon” “You’re really not helping Mummy” “What do you mean I’m not helping???” “I still need a wee, you’ve not helped” We stop walking “Right, go to the toilet then” “I can’t, there isn’t a toilet here” “THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU” We walk in silence for a while “You’re definitely not being very helpful Mummy” Once again something is my fault. EVERYTHING is my fault. Always. There’s so much responsibility that comes with being a Mummy, it’s not just the simple act of keeping them alive as I was initially led to believe! It’s my fault that the TV scheduling is such that the programme isn’t on that she’d like to watch. It’s my fault that she’s tripped over her foot. It’s my fault that she’s tripped over my foot. It’s my fault that it’s not snowing. It’s my fault that it’s snowing but not laying. It’s my fault that she wore the top she wants to wear and it’s in the wash. It’s my fault that she’s been told off for being naughty. It’s my fault that her heart is breaking because it’s bed time. It’s my fault that an hour is 60 minutes long. It’s my fault that food needs cooking before eating. It’s Rory’s fault that 10 miles is 10 miles away (HUZZAH, it’s not me) The list of my past errors is extensive! I can’t keep up. Last week I had to walk to school carrying a booster seat whilst pushing Seth (and not carrying Aoife’s book bag much to her disgust as she could see I had a spare shoulder). I had remembered the booster seat for the class trip. I had remembered to dress Aoife in red for Heart day. I had remembered to put the money in her bag for non uniform. I had remembered to take money for the tombola. I had got Aoife to school on time despite a diversion via the doctor. At home time I remembered money for the cake stall. I bought cake. “Oh Mummy, thanks for remembering all those things for me today” Is not what I heard. Instead I got told off because she wanted to choose her own cake, yes she liked the one I chose but next time she’ll choose her own. Then I got told off because I had forgotten HER bear for bearobics. The bear that she chooses and puts in her bag. I FORGOT. All the things I remembered, completely unnoticed! But the one, tiny little thing I forget? You’d think it was the end of the world. Sodding bear.

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Morning has broken (me)

Anna — Mon, 08 Feb 2016 10:49:00 +0000

Our house thrives on the morning routine, we have one, it works. Every day we wake up (always a good start) Rory has a shower then disappears downstairs with the children. I run a bath for the children then have a shower. When I get out of the shower there’s a cup of coffee and a Muller Light waiting for me, I get dressed and drink the coffee. The children appear and ‘share’ my yogurt with me. They and Rory then go into the bathroom. I do my hair and make up (I’m not vain – it proves that I’m coping with life) after a little banging, splashing and shouting from the bathroom Seth is spat out, fully cleaned and dressed. He heads to Aoife’s room to play/destroy it. Then Aoife emerges in her school uniform with messy hair. I fix the hair, we go downstairs, get coats and shoes on then head to school. Piece of cake! Last week Rory had to have an operation and ended up having an overnight stay. Nightmare. There was no coffee or yogurt when I got out the shower, the children didn’t much feel like rushing OR being still while I washed and dressed them. And my hair and face? Well, it was mid morning before they were complete (I wasn’t vain OR coping) Thankfully my Dad was on hand to help but the routine was thrown. I was in turmoil. I quickly realised that if it wasn’t for Rory, I couldn’t do it. My children would probably have to be home schooled, we’d probably still be late for that. I’d probably forget to feed them. They’d end up in their pyjamas all day. I’d have terrible hair, and I’d never have the time to write about how hard it is being a Mummy! Luckily we got through it, the children survived. Rory is getting better and this morning I got out of the shower and was greeted by a coffee and a Muller light. I feel I should point out that despite being flippant , I was very worried about Rory. I couldn’t handle that malarkey every day ?

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Bedtime Nightmares

Anna — Thu, 04 Feb 2016 21:00:00 +0000

I pick Aoife up from school every day at 3.15pm without fail. I’ve never forgotten her and I’ve never been late -though Aoife argues that the day I was stood at the wrong side of the gate I was late and she went on about it for weeks. Aoife goes to bed at 6.45pm. That gives us 3 1/2 hours to catch up and spend time together. I do as any parent does and ask all the probing questions “What did you do today?” “I don’t remember” “Who did you play with today? “I don’t remember” “What did you have for lunch today? Did you eat it all up?” “I ate it all, I don’t remember what I had though” We attempt this very conversation every day but she’d much rather watch a Disney film or do some colouring. However, the minute I finish her bedtime story and am ready to go downstairs to prepare our dinner – we don’t eat as a family on weekdays, we are bad people – she’s a proper Chatty McChattyson. She has all the tales to tell me about the writing she did, the picture in the creation station, the funny thing the teacher said. I listen attentively as a good mummy should. Aoife then moves on to how she isn’t liking being alone (I’m stood there) and how she wants me (I’m still stood there, dancing a little now because I need a wee). I explain that, as much as I love hearing about her day, it’s getting quite late and I must go to the loo then go cook dinner (quick discussion on what we’re having and how she hates that. “That’s fine, you’re not eating it”). As I make my way downstairs I hear the rumblings begin, it starts quiet but promptly ramps up to hollering “I HATE BEING ALONE. I HATE GOING TO BED. I HATE GOING TO SLEEP. I’M BORED” (Here is where Seth wakes up, thinks it’s a game and joins in shouting). I try to stay calm, really I try. I try to explain that it’s naughty to wake Seth up and that maybe I should be allowed to have a little time to myself sometimes (it always happens when Rory is at football, maybe there’s actually a link here – no more football!). After exhausting all the Super Nanny advice I can think of I lose my shit and shout, really shout“IF YOU’RE SO BORED JUST BE QUIET AND GO TO SLEEP RIGHT NOW” The neighbours must think me terribly common, I sometimes feel like Andy Capp’s wife! Yes, my joining in shouting isn’t practising what I preach but there it is, silence! Brilliant! I get on with making dinner and then the guilt kicks in. I really shouldn’t have got cross. Maybe she did need me. Maybe she’s lying there sobbing because I’m a horrid, neglectful Mummy. I sneak upstairs to check on her, she’s facing the wall asleep. Like a tiny (if a little sweaty) angel. I turn to sneak out. “I think I’ll get a Mathletics certificate this week Mummy and probably some house points” SERIOUSLY?! Once again she’s successfully snared me with a conversation that I feel bad walking out on. She’s good. She’s really good.

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Happy Monday

Anna — Mon, 01 Feb 2016 20:20:00 +0000

Seth *turns off DVD. Cries* Me *turns DVD back on* Aoife *closes Mathletics tab on laptop* Me *logs her back in* Seth *pushes Tivo buttons so Minions goes off again. Cries* Me *Puts it back on again* Aoife *’Accidentally’ closes Mathletics again* Me *logs her back in* Xabi *scared of the wind, bombing round the house mewing like a mad cat* Seth *laughs. Tries to catch Xabi* Aoife *logs back out of Mathletics* Me *Shuts down laptop* Aoife *declares hate for me and laptop* Me *calmly explains she can try again tomorrow as she’d frozen the laptop* Aoife * shoves me* Takes a breath Me * less calmly advises her to go to the naughty step* Aoife * refuses* Me *strongly suggests she go* Aoife *goes but renames it the good step* Me *reiterates that it is indeed the naughty step* Aoife *calls it good step* Me *shuts door and mutters “naughty step” under breath feeling triumphant. Aoife *yells through door “GOOD STEP”* Shit Aoife *asks how long on the step* Me *reminds her it’s one minute for each year, therefore five minutes* Aoife *suggests three* Me *points out it’s not a negotiation* Louis *starved of affection keeps clawing my stomach* Seth *sneaks up and pulls Louis’ tail* Aoife *points out the naughty step is boring so “let’s call it two minutes” Me *Strongly suggests she stop shouting as it’s five minutes and will only increase* Aoife * checks every 15 seconds whether it’s been 5 minutes and then suggests that maybe I don’t know how long 5 minutes is* Me *reminds Aoife that of the two of us, I’m the one who can tell the time* Aoife *serves her five minutes, re-enters living room and apologises* Me * gives her a hug and reminds her we don’t shove* Some time later Seth *sleeps* Aoife *sleeps* Me *drinks wine* Happy Monday.

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