“Red wine, I’ve had a little bit too much”, (as the Lady Gaga song goes) hence no blog last night, so a pound in the pot to UNICEF. Last night I was invited on a rare meeting of mums for a drink. I was very grateful for this as the day had been eventful. I awoke at 6.30 am to hear my son utter the words ‘pool and ‘pants’, I then opened his bedroom door to find poo all over the floor. It is great to start the day with vanish carpet cleaner in one hand and umpteen cloths and kitchen paper in the other, particularly semi-naked. It is the role of a mother to clean up poo, clothe children and put breakfast in front of them before clothing yourself. Its not a pretty sight but someone has got to do it.
Once work was put of the way I began the evening with the dreaded series of tasks before bed-time, tantrums, homework, hovering, clearing up spillages, potty time, empty potty time, bath-time, more hovering. I just thought I had done most of what I had intended to complete before hubby arrived from work when I noticed baby boy had upended a quarter of a bottle of shampoo onto his head and was gaily massaging it in. It took several hair washes before I could actually see hair rather than soap suds. At which point my husband arrives and joins us in the bathroom, helpfully glancing at his watch as if to say ‘why aren’t the children in bed and why isn’t my dinner on the table’ (well not quite as bad as that but you get my drift).
I did what any sane mother would do after an insane day and I threw my son’s watering can up in the air. My husband still hasn’t learnt to wait until I am free of objects in my hand before antagonising me because I am an impulsive hurler when provoked. I am sure this would serve me well in a game of cricket if I stayed angry for long enough. Why is it that, even though I too had worked all day, I was still expected to single-headedly organise the children, keep the housework chores at bay and cook? The watering can was temporarily liberating, so too was walking out the door a little while later to have a drink. Everyone needs the opportunity to let off regardless of where you are in the world or what your situation is. Just as women in Syria still want to enjoy a hen night regardless of the fact that they are in a refugee camp. Men also need this, although they seem to get away with more expensive retreats such as power tools, sheds and big boy’s toys.
So last night was a much needed break, but I did get swept away with the number of glasses poured for me, I tried to reassure myself that the ‘I quit sugar for life’ book says red wine is better than white.
It is certainly true that a Mum after a night-off is much better than a Mum without a break.
This blog is for UNICEF.
Thanks for reading.