Aimee Horton

When it rains.

Oct
06

So last week the rain started. I’m not saying it was all day every day, in fact, some days it’s been quite lovely, but on one day it decided to rain all.day.long.

On that day I woke up, and I crawled into the shower like normal. Then I dried my hair and opened the blinds. That’s when I saw the rain.

Ger-ate.

So there I am, jollying the children along “oohh look those shreddies look YUMMY and not at all like cardboard” that sort of thing, all the while crossing my fingers and willing the rain to stop.  Finally, it’s time to go and as I order them to zip up (coats and mouths) and walk them to the car, getting a wet back as I check their seat belts, and then I go back to the house, grab my bag and peruse the coat rack.

There has to be something.  In the end I select my denim jacket. Big.Fat.Coat.Fail.

I grumpily get into the car  in a bit of an arse, because it’s raining, because we’re late (how long does it take to put on a pair of shoes?) and because I know I’m going to hit traffic.  Which I do.  Because of course, nobody wants to take the bus or ride their bike or walk to school in the rain (shut up, I know I’m driving, but I live further away AND I drive every day).  By the time I get to school all the decent spaces are taken up, the very last one that was any good was taken up by my friend WHO HAS A HOOD ON HER COAT, and so I had to drive all the way down the road and abandon it randomly.

First. World. Problems. You see, I need to ensure you understand, I don’t park close for the children, I park close for my hair.  Anyway, I had to trudge through puddles, and behind slow walking people with umbrellas before The Beast jumps off into a puddle and soaks us both.  By the time I’ve kicked the child through the door and trekked back to the car water is dripping down my face.

Yes I KNOW a bit of rain doesn’t hurt anyone, that’s the quote I used when talking to the children, but here’s the deal, a) it doesn’t count when it’s me getting wet  and b) I’ve not quite got my rainy day wardrobe out of hiding yet.  And if I did, I don’t have an appropriate coat.  You see, I have my winter coat, my beloved Parka, my coat which is warm, toasty, and just SO cosy,  and I have a few macs, none of which have a hood.

Take an umbrella?  Erm.  I’m shorter the same height as most of the children, I’m going to end up poking most of the children’s eyes out with a brolly, so for me, hoods are the perfect option.

So I came home, I made myself a brew, and I fired up the iPad deciding a little bit of retail therapy would be the answer.  I ended up scrolling through the range of women’s coats at K&Co.  I made myself another brew, then I came back and produced a short list.  Now it’s been a few days I still can’t decide which to go for (coat buying is VERY serious business in this house), the criteria is fairly light weight so I can wear it Autumn and Spring, waterproof and with a hood.

cottonparka

This is probably the one I should pick.

denimparka

This really isn’t what I was looking for, HOWEVER…

animalprinthoodparka

LOOK AT THE HOOD!!

 

None of these tickle your fancy? Head over to K&Co.com and take your pick!

I wrote this post in collaboration with K&Co.  Who am I to turn down the excuse to legitimately be allowed to look at coats?

When you have 15 Minutes and there are 15 Questions.

Sep
20

So.  The school run is approximately 15 minutes give or take traffic and lights.  Most days I get to listen to the banter of two five year olds discussing One Direction, mummification, assembly and school dinners, but one day a week it’s just me and Stinky Spider-Man.  On these days I try and keep the conversation about school because he will never tell me what they do on a day to day basis and the lack of control kills me, however, he’s not as keen on that idea, so tends to use it as a time to fire questions at me.  Here are fifteen of the questions I’ve had in the last week.

1. Why do we get scabs?

2. Why can’t we just be bones?

3. Why don’t skeletons bleed?

4. Why do girls have minnies?

5. Why does daddy have hair in his armpits?

6. Why do you cut yours?

7. Does that mean it will go away for ever?

8. Why do minnies get hair on them?

9. What happens if all the countries in the world didn’t exist?

10. What happens if I was the first person ever to be born in the whole wide world?

11. But who would I play with while I’m waiting for the second person to be born?

12. How long would it take?

13. Would it be Spider-Man?

14. Why don’t you go to school?

15. Why do I have to not talk again until we get home?

I can’t even remember my answers, I was too busy trying not to crash the car.

Put me out of my misery, reassure me I’m not the only one who is slowly going insane…What questions are your children prone to asking right now?

When you feel a bit of empathy.

Mar
08

This week has not been my favourite.  I’ve had a headache since Sunday, my brain is fuzzy, and in general it’s been a bit rubbish, then this morning I woke up, and the only way to describe it was that I felt “blergh”.

We all know the monsters feed off your personality, if you’re happy they’re (usually), happy, and if you’re frustrated, so are they, and this morning was no exception.  After an incident with a table cloth and a vase of Daffs the older children appeared to be suitably crestfallen, and The Chunky Monkey was in a good mood, happily skipping into the car. Yay! I thought, the day is looking up, YAY there was no argument about shoes, and coats, and no tears about who got into the car in what order.

Then it all went horribly wrong.  The Chunky Monkey didn’t want to go into his pushchair to drop the kids off.  To be fair….I can see his reasoning.  It’s 10 minutes of sitting in a playground watching everyone else have fun, and I faltered, feeling sorry for him, thinking how good he’d been so far this morning. Big Mistake. I won’t even go into details, it just wasn’t a very relaxing wait for the classroom door to open, especially as I had to grab The Chunky Monkey by the wrist as he tried to leg it into next doors room, while I explained to the teacher that YES I did wash The Beasts clothes, and YES I did wipe his face, but apparently, whilst I was disciplining The Chunky Monkey, he’d thought it would be an excellent idea to roll down the muddy hill and skid his way through the tunnel. Marvellous.

Finally kicking ushering The Beast through the classroom door I dragged the Chunky Monkey back to the car, only for him to attempt to collapse in the middle of the road “NOOOO MUMMMEEE NO NO NONOOOOOO” he wailed, luckily, in the words of Daddy Pig, I’m quite an expert when it comes to forcing a child into the car, and pushing him into the seat, I swiftly clicked him in, (and I must admit I also did a slightly petty “HAAA LOSERRRR” taunt at him as I slammed the door).

Normally, given that I was feeling weak, and tired, and all I really wanted was to drown myself in cups of tea and brownies, I’d have headed home, but for once I was arrogant, I was going to persevere, I was not going to be controlled by a 2 year old hunk of fat. So I drove on to the shops, where I needed a few things so that I achieved something today.  In the car, I may have been on the edge of tears, not body shuddering sobs, just a few of frustration and embarrassment tears in the eyes, but I shook it out, turned the music up loud (sadly Lincs FM was not on my side).

Pulling into the car park, I may have used the F word towards the one way sign and rebelled by turning right instead of left and making my way to a space, before opening up the pushchair and bracing myself.  As I lifted him out of the car the yells “NOOO MUMMEEE NOOO NOO PEESSS MUMMEEEE NOOO” rebounded off the empty spaces, planting themselves squarely infront of the old couple getting out of their car where they then turned to look at me as I was attempting to bend him in the middle before strapping him into his pushchair.  Tutting they shook their head and wandered towards the shop.  I have to say, it’s a good job Larry wasn’t in the pushchair or I may have been forced to run after them and take their zimmer frame out.

In the end, after much finger wagging, threats of moving rockets down, and no Peppa Pig (who am I kidding), I ran out of options, and for anybody who has owned a Maclaren Buggy will know, brute force isn’t as easy as it is with a securely fastened car seat.  So I’m not very proud of what I did next, I lay him in the pushchair, and then I may have tipped it backwards, so the handles were nearly on the floor and shook it, this caused The Chunky Monkey to slide easily into his seat, then quick as a flash I flattened him in and clicked the straps. HAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAA. LOSER! I WIN YOU LOSE!

Some of you, mainly those who don’t have a twenty stone child, may wonder why I didn’t just let him walk into the shop holding my hand.  Because I wanted to achieve something. I wanted to go to the parts of the shop I needed to be in, pick up the various bits, go to the tills and pay for them, not have to drag an additional load along with me.  Plus. Pushchairs are good for carrying bags.

Anyway, after I’d calmed down, and he’d apologised (I’d just sent M the following message “Whatever the boys are getting me for Mother’s Day…double it”), we were downstairs looking for some plastic wallets, when I bumped into a Mum from The Beasts school.  She’s nice, we’ve spoken a few times, we got chatting, and she mentioned she’d seen me in the car park.  We laughed, and for the first time this morning, I didn’t want the ground to open up and swallow me in my entirety, smudged eye-make up, Nutella marked jumper and all.

We chatted some more, and then carried on with our day.

After that I was quite pleased I’d braved it.  After all, if I’d come home, we’d have no doubt fallen out over something else, tantrums would still have been had, and I wouldn’t have any contact with anybody other then my own grumpy self.  It was nice to feel a bit of empathy, there was no judgement in her eyes as she talked to Larry about his chocolate buttons I’d given him, and she relayed similar stories from her youngest.  Plus. She likes Gin.

Today isn’t going to be as awful as I thought, after all, I bought storage boxes, which, although some of you might not agree, is pretty bloody fantastic.

Have a good weekend x