I am Stoopid Feckin Waddles Mum

This is Waddles.

Waddles is the class teddy.
Waddles gets sent home with the minions in turn.
Mini-Me brought Waddles home for the SECOND time this year, just a few weeks ago.
I’m only getting around to writing this now, because I was so fricken TRAUMATISED by Waddles…
๐Ÿง๐ŸงTHE WRATH OF WADDLES…๐Ÿง๐Ÿง
The first time Waddles came home was painless and quite enjoyable. ย I now know that the little twit was luring this Mama Bear into a false sense of security. ย He came, we snapped some pics and she drew a picture of her playing with Waddles…
Easy.
So when she bounced off the bus a few weeks ago, clutching Waddles to her little self, I wasn’t too bothered.
“LOOKIT MAMMEEEEEEE. I GOTTED WAGGLES!”
“YAAAAAAAAAAY” said Mammy.
“We has to write sentences about what we do wif him AND draw a pitchur,” she adds.
“YAAAAA…aaaaaaaay…”
I had planned a relaxing evening… I now knew that this was NOT going to happen. ๐Ÿ˜ญ
You see, getting Mini-Me to write a sentence I imagine to be akin to getting Donald of daTrump to write his own speeches, all by Himself.

She needs prompts, she needs guidance, she needs “motivation” , she loses concentration every 3 seconds and she needs to constantly correct her mistakes… It’s HARD.
So imagine the chills of horror that went through me as she completed her homework and I opened the schoolbag to see the diary of Waddles…
And just like “Christmas Card-gate” ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚, I realised just how PERFECT the writing of the other kids in her class is in comparison to hers. ย  The few entries before her blank page, looked better than some of my 6th years’ handwriting!
Feckitty, feck, feck, feck…” I muttered to myself as I rescheduled my whole evening.

She did go outside and had great fun with Waddles, before starting her “few sentences”.
An hour and a half…YES…almost 90 fricken minutes after she started, we had eventually managed 3 semicoherent sentences. ย I was so knackered and mentally glooped that I ALMOST didn’t correct her mispelling of her last word “trampailรญn” which looked more like “tampon”. ย I should have left it. ย ๐Ÿ˜‚
By the time we had finished, everyone was grumpy, dinner was cold and Mammy wanted to put Waggles in the oven.
She went to bed that night, happy as Larry, hugging the googly eyed little shit as if her life depended on it.
And then I went back to the kitchen, happy that the whole evening had been worth it to see her so happy… Did I heck! ๐Ÿ˜ฅ๐Ÿ˜ฅ

I went back to the kitchen, poured a large glass of grapes and greeted The Him with “Waddles is a Prick” when he came in the door.
So there we go.

The Wrath of Waddles. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡ (I MAY have added the horns to portray how I see him… ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚)
I’m actually palpitating slightly here even remembering it if I’m honest.

I’m obviously not over it.
#yesigetthatitsgoodforthembutstill #wrathofwaddles

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