Aimee Horton

Today has not been a good day, which is a shame as it had all the qualities to be a lovely day.

Yes, admittedly I have girl flu and have been up half the night with The Chunky Monkey, who whilst didn’t get out of bed “until the sunshine comes up” did spend most of the night shouting “MUMMMEEEE III NEEEEEEDDD MILKKKKKKKK PLEEASSEEE. NOW“. Normally I wouldn’t cave quite so easily, but I’m tired, The Beast is tired, Mr Aimee is tired, we’re all bloody tired apart from him.

However, Mr Aimee let me sleep in for a bit longer then normal, and we agreed to visit my mum after The Beasts tennis lesson. Not mega busy, but nicely leisurely. Perfect.

Except for one tiny issue. The Whine.

Anyone with kids knows what I’m talking about. Noise I can cope with, I’m not saying I particularly like it, but I can cope with it. I can zone it out, either by opening a car window, turning on the fan over the hob, or putting on a song LOUDLY. I’ve even been known to succumb to a song that they like just to get them dancing and not talking, but whining. That’s another issue all together.

I’d love somebody to do a scientific study on whining. A study which analyses the pitch and octaves of a whine, along with discovering the proof that it does actually make grown mums and dads NEED an alcoholic beverage. How does it make you feel like you would actually rather jump out of a moving vehicle then hear that sound FOR ANOTHER MINUTE? HOW does it make you actually seriously google the term “is taping my child’s mouth shut frowned upon?” followed swiftly by Is there such thing as a Gin Drip?.

You see, the whine is a sound which sends shivers down the spine. It grates more than a cheese grater on your knuckles, it’s JUST NOT NICE.

It sits along par with nagging, and talking over you. Oh…and asking the same question again, and again, and again, and again, AND AGAIN, so that even though your answer is always the same, the way in which you present it changes each time in an act of frustration and desperation…

“yes darling, you can have something to eat when we get to Grans”
“yes, when we get to Grans”
“not now I don’t have anything when we get to grans”
“well, where am I going to get the food from now?”
“I know you’re desperate but I can’t make food appear as if from nowhere”
“what do you expect me to do? Magic it from my bottom?”
“WHAT? YOU EXPECT ME TO PRODUCE FOOD AND DRINK FROM MY BOTTOM YET YOU WONT EAT ANYTHING WHICH CONTAINS AUBERGINE?”
“If you say the phrase ‘desperate hungry…except for a banana’ one more time I may be forced to scream”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH”

The Whine today caused Mr Aimee to utter the slightly naive phrase “I just can’t take it anymore, they’re always worse when we’re both at home” to which I want to shout “NO YOU JUST DON’T SEE IT WHEN YOU’RE AT WORK YOU DOOFUS”, however I replied swiftly with the justification of “no, this is how they are, you see, do you now understand the reason you get a text at 3.45pm saying ‘hurry home…bring gin’, imagine dealing with it ON YOUR OWN”.

So how does one deal with a whine? After a bit of investigation there isn’t such thing as a soundproof suit, there isn’t such thing as a gin (or prosecco, or any alcoholic beverage) drip, and it’s apparently it’s not acceptable to tape your child’s mouth shut (and even if you do this the tone of which a whine comes out can still be heard).

So I’ve gone for the only solution possible, put them to bed bang on time, open the bar at 7pm and drink enough booze to remind yourself why you wanted the little >>insert word of your choice<< in the first place.

Pass the gin.