So, we just had Easter. A time for a bit of relaxation and family bonding…mmmmm.
In reality it was spent trying to stop the kids killing each other, spending a fortune on amusing them, buying them presents to make up for my guilt at being a full-time mum and sneakily eating parts of their eggs when they were tucked up in bed – (surely that’s one of the perks of being a parent isn’t it?)
Oh, and we had playdates too. My little girl Daisy was bouncing off the walls even before her little school friends came to play and I exhausted myself to the max trying to put on the perfect Mum show – yes, let’s make cakes, do some creative play, let’s make easter bonnets. By the time the kids were out of the door, Daisy had pink cheeks and all I wanted to know was ‘is it gin o’clock yet?’ It may have been just 4pm but somewhere in the world it was 8pm wasn’t it?
At least this holiday playdate didn’t end up like the last one…
I’d had such a successful day with Daisy and one of her friends – it was as if ‘best mum ever’ had been tattooed on my head. I’d done everything right and granted I felt bloody drained by it all but there was also a bit of smugness at having finally pulled it off and given my child bragging rights about her ‘so cool Mummy’. That was until the husband came home early. Football was on that night…co-incidence, I think not! I also need to mention at this point that it was chucking it down outside – that will become relevant as I go on.
All is well with the world, girls are happy, Hubby has put his feet up and has no intention of offering to take the playdate home so I make a start on getting her on her way.
Me: (to Hubby) Can you move your car so I can get off the drive and take Daisy’s friend home?
Hubby: You can get out from that, there’s loads of room.
(There was in fact hardly any room and I’ll admit I’m not Lewis Hamilton when it comes to parking and don’t get me started on reversing)
Me: (frustration) Can you just move it back?
Hubby: (sighs) It’s raining…I’ll have to put my shoes back on…
Me: (wanted to say…’no shit Sherlock!’, instead) Fine, I’ll just hit your car then.
So I head out fuming but trying to keep calm in front of said playdate.
I get in the car start to reverse and the beads of sweat are starting to form on my brow, my armpits are getting warmer and my face is turning red. I can’t get out, I’m going to end up hit hitting his car, I just know it.
I give up. BEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEP!
I have now become a mad woman and my horn is blasting out so all our neighbours will hear it but I’m not bothered, I just want to GET OFF MY DRIVE!
So, Hubby finally comes to the doorway looks at me and shakes his head, looks at the rain, groans like a schoolboy and says ‘Anyone could get out of that, I don’t know what you are on about.’
That’s when I see RED… without a second thought I shout through gritted teeth…
‘Just move the f***ing car!!!’
And then I realise…and all the blood starts to drain from my face.
It’s like a slo-mo scene from a movie as my head turns around to reveal Daisy’s friend in the back seat staring at me with innocent eyes and ears. SHITTTTTT!!!!!
Panic. How do I dig myself out of this bigger than the sinkhole on Princess Parkway hole…
My husband’s car is now moved and I’m free to go but I’m frozen with fear. Did she hear me? Is she traumatised? Oh my god, will she tell her parents??
‘Bad Mum, Bad Mum, Bad Mum, Bad Mum, Bad Mum…’ That’s all I can hear in my head.
I take a deep breath, turn on the ignition, put in the Disney CD and turn it up.
Me: (to Playdate): Oh, Daisy’s Daddy can be so silly sometimes can’t he…Anyway did you enjoy your playdate?…Did you love the cake making?…How about the disco we had that was fun wasn’t it?…What about when I made you those hot dogs that was cool right??’
And so on.
I don’t stop talking until I reach her parents’ house where I sheepishly drop her off and escape before she can blurt out that Daisy’s Mummy said ‘f***’.
I spent the rest of the night shitting myself expecting a text from angry parents saying their child had just said a profanity she had heard at ‘Daisy’s house’. Luckily it never came. Phew!
Just in case you are reading this as a parent one of my little girls’ friends please don’t stop letting your kids come over, I only lose it 50% of the time. No, seriously, this ‘Bad Mum’ has learnt her lesson – MAKE THE HUSBAND TAKE THE PLAYDATE HOME!
Until next time Mums, remember we are all human and just doing our best,
The Big Bad Mumma xx