I started writing this post a while ago, but it got lost in my Drafts folder. So I’ve pulled it out and finished it off, for posting while I’m
getting drunk enjoying the peace and quiet in Vietnam.
"Today I don't feel like doing anything....I just wanna lay in my bed..."
Bruno Mars, I salute you. You are neither female nor a mother. But you totally get me.
Recently, I've been having a few
many of those kinda days.
The kind where you just wish you didn't have to get out of bed.
Only, the problem is that I still have to get up to get Miss5 to school.
So then the wish extends to the following :
School age lowered to 2 1/2.
1 x Nanny to manage the kids and argue them into their school uniforms. What the hell, I'm feeling generous in my wishful state - multiple Nannies, at least one per child;
1 x Chef to prepare nutritious packed lunches for them to take to school, that will wow them in their fancy shmancy look, and totally disguise their A1 nutritional value;
1 x Chauffeur to ferry them around safely (in my old Commodore station wagon...kinda defeats the purpose);
1 x Cleaner to come in and make all the yuckiness disappear. All the greasy handprints, the food trails, even the
weeks years days old crayon, Playdoh and food that has been stomped into the carpet. All gone. Silently. While I sleep in. So that, when I rise, everything is sparkling. Even the cat.
By this stage, I'm totally getting into the fantasy of it all.
I'm magically thin. With Barbie's proportions. Mummy Tummy begone! Post-baby boobs, get back up to where you once belonged! Hair, washed and brushed and without a hint of frizz. Eyes so sparkly they would totally eclipse any hint of under-eye baggage (which doesn't exist in fantasy land anyway).
#1 Hubby, he has morphed into a cross between Vin Diesel, The Rock, Wentworth Miller and Manu Fieldel. With a touch of Supernanny Jo Frost in as much as his ability to come in and totally assume responsibility and control over the kids when the Nannies are off duty or on leave.
My clothes - they are all designer. Not a single spaghetti bolognese hand print anywhere. Not a saggy neckline that has had the elastic tugged out of it by a clingy child.
|Future portrait of #1 Hubby and I. So hot.|
And I could go on. Because, as you can probably tell, I have thought about this a great deal. I've given it more brain-time than the daycare centres my beloved children have attended.
I always get to this euphoric point....before checking the clock and realising that reality is calling and if I don't get my ass out of bed post haste, Miss5 will be late for school, and the twins will trash their room as a show of disgust at the lack of breakfast.
And in the midst of the ensuing mayhem, it dawns on me. I am the multiple Nannies, the Chef, the Chauffeur, and the Cleaner.
So now it's over to #1 Hubby to hold up his end of the fantasy and morph into my dream man. It's not that I'm hating on your current form, #1 Hubby. It's just that I'm providing you with constructive criticism on where you could perhaps 'improve'.
Anyway the point of this post - a massive bow down and worship, salute, high 5 - or, my personal preference - toast, to all the Mothers out there. Or the Fathers who are doing the majority of the parenting.
|Whichever stay at home parent you are, I salute you|
The payment for such a multi-tasking 24/7 role?
The 5yr old who writes her name perfectly for the first time - on a school Mothers Day morning tea invitation, that her teacher tells you she worked really hard on because it was for her "best girl", yours truly.
The neck wrenching cuddles from the human siren that is Mstr2. Those exact cuddles being the only thing that can silence the sound barrier shattering, ranty tanty screeching. Instantly. Turning it into a mega wattage smile.
The way Miss2 runs flat out towards me as soon as she hits the bottom of the stairs, screaming "mummy mummy mummy", arms flung open and ready to launch. Also, if I’m honest, the first time she got on the phone to the #1 Grandparents and said “Bullshit Nana….Bullshit Poppy”. That was a total pisser, and one of my most fierce maternal moments of love and adoration for the little pocket rocket.
So, while I know you're all accustomed to my sarcasm. I thought I'd end this post with a bit of family type loving.
Now, go squeeze the crap outta your kids. Secure in the knowledge that – speaking of crap - one day, it will be their turn to change your dirty ass and wipe the drool from your mouth (sorry...I couldn't help myself...).
|It's just a matter of time before the tables turn on the kids and the roles are reversed...|