When you ditch the kids.

Having kids is pretty full on isn’t it? I always knew it was going to be hard work, but I must admit, I thought that it was meant to get easier when they started school/could wipe their own bottoms/could communicate their needs and requirements better.

I was wrong.

It gets a lot harder.

Suddenly they answer back “Can you put your shoes and socks on please” “No, I’m watching telly.” EXCUSE ME?! The general trying to keep them alive and well rounded, whilst dealing with conversations that nobody could have anticipated.  Then there’s the fitting everything in.  It’s not just fitting work into a long day (how I yearn for the days of 8am-6pm childcare), it’s all about school runs, swimming lessons, homework, football lessons, birthday parties, play dates, baths, and tantrums.   PLUS there is even more mess, because now of course, they can – and tend to – split up and work on destroying a floor of the house each, before meeting in the middle and finishing the job off with a smelly poo, or a chocolate biscuit.  By the time it gets to the witching hour, I’m stroking my bottle of gin and checking my phone for what offer Dominos is running at the moment.

This is all part of it though isn’t it? Kids.  They’re meant to be exhausting right?  But sometimes, just sometimes you  need to have some space.  I’m not talking about work.  That’s not space, because usually somebody equally as annoying, talks at you constantly, somebody who you haven’t even made thinks it’s ok to piss you off with a stupid request.  Therefore, you’re almost looking forward to the argument in the car about who is looking at who. Almost.

Therefore, sometimes it’s nice just to ditch the kids for a couple of hours and sit in the garden with a glass of Pimms and your book.

My ideal however, is twenty-four hours.  Twenty-Four hours of peace.  Of being able to have a meal out without having to worry about coming back, of having a nights sleep which isn’t at risk of ending abruptly at 4am by somebody who thinks it’s the perfect time to sing The Wheels on The Bus while dancing around their bedroom.  Enough time to wake up NATURALLY rather then by somebody opening your eyelid with their fingers and breathing snotty breath right into your face.    Enough time to have a leisurely breakfast without being asked questions such as “So, why don’t we just live in trees?” “Why DO we have skin?” “Can I see my blood?”.

Enough time to recharge.

Some people look baffled when I say I need time away from the kids, time with just me and Mr Aimee.  I’ve even been subjected to a sympathetic head tilt “But..but what would you talk about?”

 To which I quickly respond with “News and current affairs”.

This is a total lie.  Anybody who knows me knows that the news tends to make me cry so I steer clear.

So what do we talk about?

Our week.  Holidays, what we’re doing to the house, people we know, stuff we watch on the tv, anything and everything.  But we do tend to focus on one subject more than anything else.

The children.

The two human beings which after a particularly aggressive fight over a twig (that’s right a twig), caused the outlaws to receive a message reading “We’re bored of the kids. Do you want them for the night tomorrow?”.

The same two children who have caused me to go into another room and count to 10 after hearing the phrases “Why Mummay?” and “But that’s NOT FAIR” 2,34572 times in ten minutes, that have caused me to question my own maturity “I CAN TOO RUN FASTER THAN YOU”.  The two children that insult you at the drop of a hat “Mummy…why do you have two bottoms?”.

It’s not just us right who do that right?

The two small boys, that less than twelve hours ago, we were happily loading into their Grandparents car, unable to prevent ourselves from doing a little dance as we waved them off, slamming the front door as soon as they’re out of sight and doing a little air punch and victory dance.

They  consume your thoughts and your conversation.  Interrupting the other reading a newspaper as you remember something funny that they’d done earlier that day, sending a text message to make sure they’re safely tucked up in bed asleep.  A song comes on that reminds you of how they always dance to it, changing the words to something that says “bum” or “poo”.  Then when the other one nips to the loo, instead of checking the news or twitter on your phone, you scroll through the photos instead, reliving happy memories, laughing fondly at tantrums which nearly caused you to cry.

The thing that I’ve discovered since becoming a parent, is that even when you want to ditch the kids, when you achieve it, you never really do.  They’re always on your mind.

Just don’t tell anyone I said that.



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