Operation: Mardy Mummy

The last few days have been a bit of a trial for my new, positive mummy persona.  I think the novelty has worn off for the boy now, and he knows that mardy me is hunkering down somewhere, and so he has set about hunting her out.  His first line of attack has been ignoring me again; on any normal day over the last week I have had the usual “What did you say?” two or three times before he acknowledges what I’ve said and has then generally done it, but the last couple of days the “What did you say?” has been replaced by the anarchic grin and continuing to do whatever it is I’ve asked him not to, but a little bit worse than before I’d asked:

“Don’t take the soil from the apple tree”, he gets a spade instead of his hand.

“Don’t take the safety foam off the trampoline”, he takes off the foam and the safety netting.

“Don’t grab your sister”, he stops grabbing and pushes her over.  On and on.  Over and over.

On top of this, the girl has been waking through the night for the last couple of weeks and screaming like a banshee until we go in to their room.  Once in the room, we have to sit and hold her hand for an hour or two until she falls back to sleep, try to escape before then, and the banshee returns.  Anyone that has lived with me would be able to confirm, I really like my sleep, and I don’t really like it being disturbed, if it is, I’m not generally the best person to be around the next morning.

This morning, after another broken night’s sleep, the boy decided to have a little singsong at breakfast, unfortunately the song of choice (as he ran circles around the table) was “Donald Trump is a goodie” at the top of his lungs.  The only reason I can assume he is singing this is because he knows how very, very little I think of the Trump – especially as I’ve explained those feelings before, when similar ditties have been screamed down my ears.  I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee.  I hid in the kitchen to avoid having a hissy fit, but the boy followed and added a bit of maniacal cackling.  My mood did not lift.

Once Trump was forgotten, we were about to leave the house for school and he launched into his new song “Jesus in prison” (hot on the heels of the girl’s hit “Jesus died” with xylophone accompaniment)

“I think the words might be Jesus is risen” says I, hopefully

“No…Jesus in prison, Jesus in prison” he sings back

“I really think it would be, Jesus is risen” slightly less hopefully

“Not at my school.”

And so he sang (shouted) it, almost all the way to school, only returning to “Trump is a goodie” when he realised he was getting no reaction.  Thankfully we have very few neighbours.

School gave a very welcome reprieve, even if it did involve receiving electric shocks and needles shoved into my muscles, courtesy of the NHS, to check nerve function in my arms (they’re fine, I might have intermittent Carpal Tunnel Syndrome or I might not, MRI next – yippee).  However once home, it was obvious that the boy’s mood hadn’t been cheered by the glorious weather; before stepping out of the car, his newest trick is to put the car into gear, just to give me that nice jolt of surprise next time I start the engine.  My mood quickly followed suit.  His second line of attack was then launched, bullying his sister, he had decided she couldn’t bounce on the trampoline (this was before the safety stuff was removed, I hasten to add).  When I took issue with this, he grabbed her and pushed her about a bit, in response she bit him.  Then the lectures about biting started, she smirked back at me and told me biting was good and this is where I made a rookie mistake

“So if he bit you, that’s ok?” within his earshot, fool that I am.

She grinned in that teenage way and nodded her head.  Lecture resumed about hurting not being good, not the right way to behave, blah blah blah.  Back on the trampoline she goes.  And then the screaming starts.  Now I have to tell school why she is sporting two rather nasty bitemarks on her arm.

Thankfully, tomorrow they are at school all day, they spend the week looking forward to it ALMOST as much as I do, and then hopefully positive mummy will return from her cocoon like a beautiful butterfly, after a bit of R and R.



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