Anyone else have moments of pure rebellion triggered by seemingly inconsequential events? Today I did. Ohhh yes.
Westy and I started the day on shaky ground. I was up at 5am with Harmie, fell asleep on her fluffy pink beanbag then crawled back into bed just as our alarm was chirping that the day had begun. I tried to grasp an extra half hour of sleep, before traipsing downstairs for a family breakfast.
All good(ish) so far. At 7.38am Westy headed upstairs to brush his teeth. Precisely two minutes later Ev frantically declared “I NEED A POO!” whilst leaping off his chair in a panic. I suggested to Ev that he go upstairs to the bathroom with Daddy so that Harmie could finish her breakfast. Daddy had other plans however, and began a militant campaign of shouts about needing to leave for work so as to be back in time for tea.
On the promise of an early return home, I headed upstairs with Harmie to commence the poo side vigil. What followed was the three of us getting ready in utter chaos, resulting in my general appearance resembling a weatherworn scarecrow.
Fast forward to tonight. Tonight. After parading around like the back end of a bus all day. After a day of scurrying around cleaning during nap time. Of preparing dinner during nap time. Of washing and pick ups and playtime. Of shouty mum moments. Of cuddles. Of tidying. Of just being a parent…I was tired.
As tea time approached I was looking forward to sitting down as a family. Of a little bit of extra help. The traffic, however, had other plans; Westy messaged to say he wouldn’t make it home in time for tea. No problem. I’d just eat dinner with Ev and Harmie myself.
As our little trio finished tea it was all starting to go to pot. Everyone was tired. Grouchy. In need of some new energy to get us over the bedtime bar. Westy finally appeared to excited cries of “IT’S DAAAADDDYYY!” and whoops of joy. Celebrity welcome over with, I was relieved to have some bathtime help.
I began finding pyjamas and turning on nightlights whilst silently seething that the hero of the hour was very much in demand and noticeably absent. Eventually, he made a starring appearance to more excited cries, followed by a celebratory parade by Ev and Harmie between their bedrooms. A parade that quickly escalated into a stampede.
Westy continued to encourage the festivities before making a silent and very hasty retreat. Strolling downstairs like a man with zero cares in the world and the expectation of a very relaxing peaceful dinner whilst carnage ensued upstairs. Not on my watch mate.
I stomped downstairs ready to declare war and demanded that he deal with the mayhem that he had encouraged. I was going to leave it at that. Until he muttered a parting shot of “pfff someone’s in a bad mood” followed by a call of “Mummy’s just clearing up the tea things!”
Mummy had already cleared up 10,452 times today. Had washed up. Cooked. Fed. Cooked again. Cleaned. Played. Run. Cuddled. Collected. Listened. Tidied. Wiped. LOVED. Mummy in that moment decided that this job is no less important than any other. Despite the very non-existent monetary consideration.
Mummy had had ENOUGH.
So I picked up the tea that I had so carefully cooked and plated up for him. And I lobbed it right in the bin.
Of course I am well aware that this was not the right thing to do. But in that moment, I also know that I felt free. When Westy appeared and queried “Helly, where did my tea go?” I felt like I had made a stand. Because the point is, and was, this. When you’re at home with the kids. On a weekend. Or in the week. On days off. Or all the time. It can be long. It can be hard. Whatever it is, IT MATTERS. And sometimes the only way of expressing how much, is to rebel in food form.
PS. Sorry Westy for being such a live wire. Is this as bad as the time I poured your wine down the sink?
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