Smug Mug

KidsYesterday I experienced what can be described as parenting nirvana. From the moment we three rose out of the one bed (T- away as a local booze/meat festival with pals) until we all rested our heads the day was sprinkled with magical moments. Not only that but I managed to somehow crowbar in washing, ironing, crafting, half a work-out and made a homemade chicken and vegetable pie. Hell, even my Insta game was on-point.

Things were so lovely that I even attempted to take both kids to the cinema, on my own. An actual film. We made it to the end, although E took a break about 6/7 times. I’d say we watched about 65% of the film. To be honest, that’s all they needed to make (Hotel Transylvania 3 – avoid).

Throughout the whole day both children had behaved brilliantly. They were polite, well mannered, kind to each other and funny. The sun shone, swings were swung and all was well in the world.

When we all clambered into bed together last night I cuddled up to E, stroked S’s hair until all I could hear was the soft snores of them both. The next emotion I experienced is one which is resented by all parents. It is the no-no of the parenting world. I felt smug.

Waking up to the sound of the washing machine on a fast spin, I was naturally optimistic that Sunday would be a carbon copy of yesterday. Just without the expenditure. Silly me.

Today is nothing like yesterday. So far (it’s not even 10am yet) both kids have been on various types of naughty steps, I’ve picked boiled egg from the sofa and carpet, they’ve screamed, shouted, slapped each other, E has had his fingers in every orifice on his person and electrical items in the house, S is annoyed as I’ve told her she’s not allowed to turn her room into an aquarium with a real-life whale, E  only wants to eat biscuits. The fresh fruit that I prepared for snacks has been physically thrown across the room. We now have lickable walls, ala Willy Wonka.

I’m hoping as the day pans out that things will calm down. I’ve planned on making a roast dinner (how hard can it be?) so that when T comes home weary from the site of too much sausage and queasy from too much cider, he can sit down and look upon his perfect family smiling back at him. At this rate, he may come home and I may go straight out in search of my own sausage and cider.

The point is that no two days are ever the same and no child is ever consistently good or consistently bad. But whatever you do, never, ever think about feeling smug. It will kick you in the butt.

Wish me luck.

P.S. I’m writing this now as I’ve stuck them both in front of the Disney Channel.

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One thought on “Smug Mug

  1. Another excellent read Tunstall..and .I’m in the queue at your book signing….and yes I will pay for my copy😁

    Like

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