Aimee Horton

When they just KNOW.

Nov
26

Last week, for the first time in two years I had a “girls” night. I’m not saying I haven’t been out with the girls in two years, or that I haven’t had any late nights and been out, because you know Matthew and I are lucky enough to try and have one “date night” a month where the boys stay with the Mother or the Outlaws, and I do see the girls, just for day times, or slightly tamer food and drinks in the local. But for a change we decided to risk TOWN and go out for cocktails. We were all slightly worried we were suffering a midlife crisis, but after a bit of too-ing and fro-ing (urgh, taxis, URGH loud music, URGH young people making us feel old and URGH lots of unnecessary flesh) we decided that YES going “into town” did seem like an awful lot of bother, but we would brave it.

So after much kerfuffle, ordering from ASOS/Next/BooHoo/New Look and trying to decide between smokey eyes and nude lips vs nude eyes and bold lips, we did it.

We walked into our first bar (A BAR – not a pub A BAR), and ordered cocktails.

We split our time firmly between two bars, I’m not one for that getting chilly and going from one to another, if I’ve found a seat I’m up for sitting in it all night. We even went to one with LOUD music. Yes we had to shout, YES they cleared our drinks away far too quickly (I hadn’t finished with that young man!) and YES we had a lovely couple sit next to each other and eat each others faces (fuck. having just read this post so far I really am a fogey). We also got fake chatted up by a couple of boys where the conversation went like this:

 

Child 1: “Hi, we’re in the RAF”

US: “Hello…” <turning back to each other slightly panicked look in eyes>

Child 1: “I’m in IT, he’s a Pilot, and he’s a cleaner”

Child 3: “I’m a cleaner”

Me: “Oh that’s good.”

Child 2: “I fly planes”

Me: “well…that must be really scary…do you bomb people too?” (Yes I KNOW…but I only usually talk Spiderman with young boys!)

Child 2: “well…no.”

Me: “oh.”

Child 1: How old do you think I am?

oh. god. We look at each other…we confer…we silently agree about 12, but go for 18

Child 1: HA no – I’m 23

He was so lying.

Child 1: SO….I know it’s rude to ask a lady how old she is…but how old are you?

Sigh. My friends are sniggering as I’m sat next to the children and they are further down the bench.

Me: 30

Child 1: WOOOWWWW you so don’t look look 30, you look about 24 IF THAT.

Sweet naive little child.

Me: Thanks. I have two children.

Child 1: OH LOOK! There’s my friend. Seeya later.

After that we went to investigate the dance floor, but as there was no words, just loud noise I couldn’t really strut my stuff (this is probably best) so at 2am we decided to head home.

I tripp-trapped into my house at about 2.30am I fell into bed luckily deciding not to do my usual “Oh just one glass of wine and a wind down” only to be woken and begin my day at 4am.

I tried to keep him in bed for as long as possible, however by 5.30am I couldn’t take anymore. THANKS FATSO Larry. Matthew gave me a lie in the day before so I didn’t fall asleep in my first drink so he was happily snuggled down in bed while I lolled on the sofa with a throw, a flask of coffee (yes a flask) and Peppa Pig. At 7am the day well and truley began when The Beast got up…the child who never rises before 8am on a weekend was up and at it with added whineyness.

How is one meant to function when you’re expected to split up fights? SERIOUSLY – Cinder-bloody-ella never went through this. I bet the ugly step sisters didn’t rise until at least 11am so after she got home from the ball at about 12.30am she could have a good few hours beauty sleep. And I bet my heels were higher.

HOW DO THEY KNOW? They must have this sensor, I assume it’s similar to the sensor they have as a baby where they only go to sleep when you’re standing up and as soon as your knees start to bend they wake up and scream at you…they just KNOW when you’re weak, when you’re vulnerable and when you’re tired, they sense it and they make your life hell.

I’m sure some of it is to do with tolerance, if you’re on your tired and grumpy they’re tired and grumpy yada yada yada, but HOW DO THEY KNOW WHEN TO WAKE UP?? How do they KNOW that today is the day they’ll get the best reaction if they go up and sit on their brother, or they are likely to get a gagging noise out of me by doing a pooh they coming up and climbing on my face?!

I suppose it’s a mum thing. We’re meant to be all sacrificing and doing things for the kids, so when you do something for yourself, they sense it and make you pay. If they don’t make you suffer for your misdemeanours the night before (early mornings, raging temperature on your return to inflict guilt) they try preventative action and often win. You know the sort of thing, you plan to go for a run and a child vomits into your trainers, or you are getting dressed to go for a nice meal and a child falls over and cracks its head open on a coffee table, ensuring a 4 hour visit (minimum) to A&E. New Job – chicken pox. Additional work load – sudden inability to watch any television for more then 20 seconds – no not even the Gruffalo – you’ve used that one too many times. You make a nice meal they suddenly have a nightmare…you ask what it’s about…”clouds”. That’s right. Clouds. When you’re late for a meeting and you need to drop the kids off quick – The Plank.

 

Does this happen forever? When I call my mum to weep about the night before was she planning to go on a wild day out with Betty and the crew? Does she cancel plans to save her grandchildren from the wrath of the sleepless Aimee? When do (and should) we stop using this to our advantage?

I want to give my children everything in order for them to be happy as long as it doesn’t impact my gin supply, but when does it stop?

Should I take the Mother into Office and just walk around carrying a pair of Kensington Ugg Boots squealing loudly every time she suggests I pop them back on the shelf, yanking them back and holding onto them with a vice like grip – even debating wiping my nose on them so nobody else wants them – hoping that in the end she’ll wearily opt for the quiet life and just buy them for me (without me having to let go, the cashier will have to lean over the counter and swipe them while I’m hugging them to my chest). Have I been missing out? Or do the rules change when you have your own money?

If so…when can the boys get a paper round?

 

 

 

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