Thursday, 27 January 2011

Quite frankly sweetheart, mummy thinks your painting is a piece of sh*t, biscuit?

 I am trying not to watch the UFC fighting my husband has on- sporting headphones too, so I cannot hear the bloodcurdling screams either- whilst I am tapping away, entering this blog, it is surprisingly distracting…I, unlike my ‘I wanna be the hulk when I grow up’ -hubby, hate fighting. (Play fighting, ok, but the slightest hint of real pain, and I’m tapping out before you can shout  “I’VE GOT MAHOOSIVE FOREARMS…!) And can never bring myself to endure it, not even as a dutiful wife, trying to please her man. No, uh uh, this is why it is seen as a good compromise, I don’t officially have to watch it, and I get to busy myself with my blog. Only, I keep catching glimpses, and throwing a look (out of utter morbid fascination) and crying out things such as: “OMG, WTF?? Woooo that’s f*ck*d up…” and other such highly articulate analogies… It’s, in it’s best moments, both disturbing and brutal. Sheer murder, it seems to me, is being witnessed, and no-one is doing anything about it. It carries on, people are ringing warning bells, they stop for a bit, then carry on and these fighting dudes are caked in blood, and loving it. They actually choose to do it. When they are asked by their teachers what they want to be when they grow up, do they respond: “I want my face to be completely unrecognisable, so swollen that you cannot tell if I am really human or baboon. Ears, I want my ears to be as giant as cauliflowers, my lips to be as red as blood, hair the colour of ebony…” Oh, wait a minute, that’s snow-white isn’t it? Is this what they reply to their primary school teacher? I do wonder.

My cat Bumble got hit by a car the other, and has a broken femur (bastard car, that I WILL hunt down, and destroy…I'll write, like, 'wash me' in the dirt or something really nasty like that...). My son broke down into helpless tears on hearing that we would have to take him immediately to the vets. I put my arm around him, and I do some ‘there-there’-ing and strokey-head actions, and reassure him that Bumble will be fine…this is when he looks at me and says that he is not crying about Bumble, it turns out the reason he was gutted, is because I had promised him I would watch an episode of Pokemon with him that evening, and obviously we wouldn’t be able to. A very  proud *NOT* moment on  my behalf, my son who couldn’t actually give a flying rat’s *rs* about the cat, he just wanted a T.V moment with his mum! On the way back in the car, after being told Bumble would have to have an operation, Monty I think feels a bit guilty for his completely insensitive remark earlier, and asks to hold the cat. As I pass him over, he cuddles him and says, “ahhh, he’s all warm. Why’s he so wa…..oh my gosh, he’s weeing mum, he's just weed all over my leg…” The cat had been so warm because he was busy p*ss*ng on Monty’s leg! Ha! that’ll teach Monty to be insensitive. Oh the hilarity *sigh*, *wipe tear from corner of eye from so much laughter*

Of late, I find myself a little more adventurous. In the sense that, as the kids are the ages they are, they are not quite as dependent on me as they were when I had them all tiny together. I have been turning my attentions to art, and painting, as it is one of my passions, which I have too long neglected, due to mostly, the laundry…! I am doing a lot more, and (god I wish the chicken outside would shut up boc boc buck-off!), the kids love it too, as, of course, ‘mummy-hobby-time’ is usually done with 4 kids in tow. I read a wee while back that in order to prepare our kids for the real world, a good start is by being honest about their pictures, tell them the truth, if it’s not good, tell them. It’s apparently a good way of preparing them for the real world…As if?! So when one of mine comes in with a painting they truly believe is the dog’s nuts, I, in an attempt to prepare them for the real world, am supposed to turn round to them and say “So what exactly is it then? You see, mummy wasn’t sure because your drawing skills are extraordinarily poor, and, quite frankly sweetheart, mummy thinks your painting is a piece of sh*t, biscuit?” so you see, I am not convinced. I prefer to mollycoddle them, and protect them and surround them with mummy adoration for as long as they will let me, then that way, when they do go out in to the big wide world, at least they know that no matter what, they have someone there batting in their corner, giving their sh*t paintings a big thumbs up, air punching and giant raspberry kissing them over every minute achievement…an over zealous, embarrassing mum. But that is, after all, what we are there for right? Not to sledgehammer them into the real world...that's for the real world to can't pick us kids (despite the fact I threaten them occasionally with the  old trip to  the 'mummysrus' shop to buy them a new mummy  if they misbehave), you're stuck with the one yer got!

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