|Too exhausted from being at the park to find a pic, so I pilfered this one from my last post whining about the park. FFS!?|
School holidays plus summer equals outdoorsy shit. FFS!?
I negotiate all manner of things (including the unspeakable FFS!?) in return for #1Hubby doing park duty while I stay home. FFS!?
But that only works on weekends. FFS!?
I am on solo park parent duties all week, every week, during these sadistically long school holidays. FFS!?
I have a long running, documented hatred of the park.
But since I've suffered through weeks of park visits, I'll indulge in a few more reasons I hate it.
If fortunate enough to score a spot on a bench, it is usually only because there's a sticky mess. FFS!?
That I sit in without noticing, in my excitement to have scored a seat. FFS!?
The Feral Threesome will fight, even at the park. FFS!?
Which means I must put my best parenting foot forward to diffuse the various situations, on account of the multiple mothers witnessing shit go down. FFS!?
I do not have the patience or the quiet voice required to calmly negotiate multiple sibling spats over whose turn it is on the seesaw, and no not that side I want to sit on the other side, and you're going too high/fast/slow/not moving at all. FFS!?
Mister Whippy ALWAYS shows up when I'm at the park. FFS!?
I'm convinced that bastard ice cream truck has a tracking device on my car. FFS!?
I never take my purse, so I suffer through endless devastated whining re: you don't love me because you didn't buy me a $4 ice cream cone that I can get from Macca's for 50 cents. FFS!?
Promising the equivalent 8 Macca's cones when you get home in return for a little silence does not work. FFS!?
There is no wifi at the park. FFS!?
Bored doesn't even cover it. I feel myself age as I sit in the random sticky substance on the bench. FFS!?
As my mind drifts off into lala land where George Clooney and I are living large, at least one of the Feral Threesome will be wailing longer and louder than all other kids at the park combined, thus ruining my moment and diverting all eyes to me as one, two or all three come screaming at me. FFS!?
Snot will be wiped on my person. FFS!?
Poorly parenting will be exposed to the surrounding mother witnesses, as my very loud children dob on each other for spitting, pinching, WWE style wrestling, licking, farting, inappropriate name calling (don't even get Miss8 started on Miss5 calling her a broccoli...). FFS!?
At least one child will loudly proclaim something along the lines of:
"BUT MUUUM...YOU SAID SHIT WOULD GO DOWN THE NEXT TIME SHE SAID SHIT...AND SHE SAID SHIT MUM...REALLY, SHIT IS WHAT SHE SAID...I HEARD HER SAY SHIT....SHIT, SHIT, SHIT...SO IS SHIT GOING TO GO DOWN NOW MUUUM?".
Which serves no purpose in calming shit down, instead outing my crap parenting at home behind closed doors. FFS!?
Judgemental superior eyes will be on me. FFS!?
I count down the minutes until we can leave. FFS!?
It's a mathematical equation of sorts.
Working out when they've been there, enjoying outdoorsy physical shit, long enough to cover the morning's Nintendo playing, and the afternoon and evening's TV viewing to come. FFS!?
It is blissful relief when all three are in the car, and I gun the engine and head for the sanctity of home, electronic babysitters, wifi and wine. No FFS!?
At least until the next day....FFS!?
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