I am So Eating the Chocolate Mum

‚ÄčSweet Jebus.
“Mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum MUM MUM MUM  MUM MUM.”
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?”
Insert random, usually COMPLETELY sporadic and unplanned question or statement here.

She doesn’t even have anything of importance to say.

She doesn’t CARE that she hasn’t even thought of what she’s about to say before she starts the 

“Mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum mum MUM MUM MUM  MUM MUM.” 

The only two things she knows at that moment are:

1. Mammy has started to talk to someo6else.

2. Mammy must NOT talk to someone else while I am in the room.
It’s exhausting.

And sometimes, depending on WHO mammy is DARING to have a conversation with, it’s ridiculously embarrassing.
I can handle a class of 28 teenagers, but I have NO CONTROL over a 4 & 3/4-er…

Shoot me now…
The two pictures below, top and tail the evening I’ve just had with my Mini-Me.
The first picture is about 44 minutes before THE BEDTIME FROM HELL that has lead to #operationskinnyarse being thrown THE FECK out the window, just for tonight. (Image 2…not cropped to hide grapejuice.)ūüėČūüėČūüėČ


The lovely Samantha @nappiesandlattes brought her this lovely Princess Bubbles last night. (non-alcoholic of course, although I would seriously consider throwing some gin into it right now…)
She ate all of her dinner, even AFTER a birthday party so The Him popped it, making a nice wee fuss over her and giving us a really sweet Mummy and Mini-Me moment.
 45 minutes later, both of us are screaming, both of us are in tears and BOTH of us are ready to freak the hell out.

Why!?

Because BOTH of us THINK we’re the alpha female of the group and BOTH of us need to learn to calm the feck down.

We’re as bad as each other and I have no one to blame but myself…and of course The Him.  Because she has HIS temper… she OBVIOUSLY doesn’t get her headstrong stubborness from me now does she?

All Him.ūüėÄ
And so now, it’s finally quiet, I had a good old telemobile rant at my Buddy “Rainbow” and The Him bought me a bar of chocolate.

NEVER underestimate the power of dialling a number to another Mammy Bear. You can say ANYTHING and swear as MUCH AS YOU LIKE, and they’ll just sit on the other end of the line nodding their heads and agreeing with you and saying things like “Mmmmhmmmmm” and  “Oh I hear ya!” and so you don’t fell quite so shittiful or USELESS as a parent.
So there.

That is how quickly things can escalate, or indeed disintegrate when you have a tired Mammy and a tired Minion in a room.  

The smiles in the first picture are real, but so are the tears.

I just don’t have a picture of those.
And the chocolate bar is also real, so Over and out Bitcheepooos!
I have some slabbering to do… ūüėėūüėėūüėė

I am so mortified Mum

This weekend, I met my threenager. ¬†A work colleague kindly gave me this word on Monday when I mentioned by utter exasperation at Mini-Me’s constant whining and tantrums. It’s perfect. ¬†Attitude, huffing, stomping, screaming and absolute defiance; and all quite out of character. ¬†Thankfully, it seems to have passed and so I’ll happily attribute her shenanigans to her Daddy being away on business for the weekend as opposed to the beginning of a long-term hatred of Mammy.

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Thankfully however, even in the midst of her strops and screeches, she still managed to surprise me. ¬†We were in a local supermarket on Sunday. ¬†I’d like to paint a picture of calm and relaxation; you know where I hum happily as I push her around in the trolley and she sweetly impresses other shoppers by asking for oranges and singing at the top of her voice. ¬†But no.

True to the form of the weekend, Madam refused to get into the trolley, insisting that she push the bloody thing even though she can hardly reach the handle. ¬†By the time we got to the fruit aisle, (aisle 2), she had thrown two full blown tantrums; one over the pushing of the trolley, and one because she “neeeeeeeed buns!”

So when we moved into the next aisle and she seemed happier, (probably because she was holding said buns as if they were the last buns in the shop), I breathed a sigh of relief and carried on.  And then it happened.

A young man was stacking shelves. ¬†He was bent forward over the onions, minding his own business, doing his job. ¬†I had started humming, happy that all was calm again. ¬†And then my adorable, innocent, (mostly) pleasant daughter lifted her little hand and slapped him square on the arse, shouting “Woooohoooooo!!” as she did so…

I…was…mort…i..fied!

Tell me.  What the hell does one do when their toddler assaults a stranger while they work?  The victim jumped up, dropped his onions and looked around to see a wee toot grinning up at him, proud as punch of her self! He looked at me with shock on his face.

And then he laughed.  Thank the Lord Jesus and the baby donkey, he laughed.

Mammy on the other hand, turned 50 shades of scarlet and made a futile attempt at scolding Mini-Me while apologizing profusely. ¬†“It’s fine!” he said. “I have a wee rascal at home myself.” And with that statement, all was right with the world.

I apologized again, grabbed the bun-free hand and dragged her off.  She was absolutely oblivious to my mortification and sang her way around the rest of the shop.

By the time I got the frozen food, I had resumed my normal pallor. ¬†And then I started to laugh. ¬†It wasn’t just the slap. ¬†It was the “Wooohooo”. ¬†I don’t even know where or how or why she thought to do it. ¬†I explained to her that we don’t slap people and all I can do is hope that it doesn’t happen again.

“I like buns” she replied to me.

Seriously…

I am So mortified Mum

. cake

I am Sweeties-Mum

tonguesweeties

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Sveeeeeeeties!” she screams, sounding suspiciously like the Grand High Witch in Roald Dahl’s Witches.

“You can’t have sweeties for breakfast Silly Billy. ¬†Would you like toast or Shreddies?”

“COCOPOPS!!”

“What about French Toast? You can crack the eggs for Mammy.”

“COOOCOOOOOPAAAAWPS!!!”

“Do you want to crack the eggs?”

“Meeee cwack the eggses! ¬†I wub Fwench Toooast” – and just like that, I win.¬†No row, just distraction. I’ve kicked the sugar craving in the arse.

cookies.chocolate.bowl.13

But where, oh where does it come from? At what point did I teach my little girl that sweeties and chocolate covered cereals are the ultimate prize? How is it that she knows what to say to wind Mammy up in the morning?

We’re a pretty healthy¬†family. ¬†We try not to eat overly processed foods. ¬†We eat a varied and balanced diet of good food and tasty treats. Mini-me has been eating the healthier versions of cereal since starting on solids, and her favourite breakfast is¬†in fact Shreddies.

She gets sweeties and ‘choc-choc’ as a treat. ¬†We do reward good behaviour with a sugary treat…gasp! ¬†But to her, a raw carrot or cheese and grapes is also a treat.

We thought we were doing it right. We thought that we were teaching her to love healthy food and to see Sweeties as occasional treats. ¬†When I offer her diluted juice, she prefers water or milk. ¬†She won’t drink fizzy drinks; her choice. ¬†She loves fruit and breadsticks etc. ¬†We’re doing ok.

So how is it, that when she feels mischievous, she knows to ask for chocolate covered cereal which she knows we don’t buy?

Well, probably because she had them once while on a sleepover, and loved them, ¬†What child wouldn’t? It’s chocolate in a bowl…for breakfast!?

She also had great pleasure in throwing poor Granny under the proverbial bus one day “Granny gave me cocopops” she announced as we pulled into Granny’s driveway.

“Did she now? And did you like them?”

“I wub Cocopops”

Of course she does!

Listen,¬†I get that people are happy to let their kids eat chocolaty breakfast cereals. ¬†I have no problem with that. ¬†It’s none of my business what other parents¬†feed their little darlings.

We just choose not to give them to ours. That’s our prerogative as her parents. ¬†We know we can’t control what she eats all the time, especially when she’s with other people, but we can¬†influence what she perceives as good food or as a treat as she grows up.

People don’t agree with us. Sure there’s no harm in them. ¬†My kids ate them and they didn’t do them any harm etc... Yes. Ok.

But we just don’t want to give them to her as an option.

Breakfast is one of the few chances we get to ensure that our little darlings leave the house ready for their day. ¬†If we want to make sure that they are fueled with goodness, rather than with sugar, that’s OK too.

I can smell the sweetie irony though. ¬†By offering sweeties as a reward for good behaviour, we’ve actually taught her that the sweeties are something precious and special.

So it’s absolutely my own fault now that she expects them¬†as a reward for good behaviour. ¬†It’s absolutely my own fault that she sees sugary treats as the holy grail and would chose the chocolate bar over the plain biscuit.

Of course it is.  But sure I would too.

As an adult, I have my own relationship with food. ¬†I love it. ¬†Eating is¬†one of my favourite things to do. I love a bit of chocolate. ¬†I love the odd sweetie. I eat well and I’m active, so these devilish treats are fine. ¬†As is everything in moderation.

And that’s the key. ¬†Moderation.

sweeties

She likes sweeties. ¬†She likes chocolate. ¬†So what? Who doesn’t.

She likes her good behaviour to be verified with a treat, so, I’m making an effort to replace these “rewards” with non-sweets from time to time. ¬†Her craft box full of feathers and glue is now offered as a reward for being a good girl. Or I let her watch Minions (again!).

And sometimes, I’ll just reward/bribe¬†her chocolate. Sometimes I’ll offer her sweeties. Sometimes, I’ll share the sweeties with her, (but never with Daddy!), just because I can.

And yes, sometimes I’ll give her sweeties when she asks for them…but not for bloody breakfast!

I am Sweetie-Mum ūüôā

sweeties2