Today I am the Mummy Who Forgot (again). This time it was sausage rolls for H6 to take to Rainbows. She found out only when she got there when it was Too Late.
In my defence, as I never take H6 to Rainbows, such things pass me by on the list headed Unimportant. I don't mean to do it, but as her membership of Rainbows, the journey to and fro and, last week, tea beforehand are all organised by H6's best friend's Fabulous Organised Mummy. I've kind of given up on Rainbows.
So the letter on which was scrawled in tiny loopy biro squiggles, 'sausage rolls', ended up on the pile of Done Things, as it also included a consent form for H6 to go out for the day along with a demand for £5. Now money is one thing I do concentrate on, so that thing I did, then the letter was spiked. And anyway, Rainbows seem to have a party or an outing, or the Olympics, every blooming week.
So H6 is about to return home in high dudgeon ready to hold a kangaroo court with her as hanging judge and me as hopeless defendant.
A distraction is necessary so I have also, while she has been out, turned into Mummy Who Throws Things Away. And by Things I mean all the tat, the crap, the egg boxes, the plastic rescued from the recycling to be turned into cars for toys, the horrid little whatevers that come out of Kinder Eggs, and packaging.
So much packaging! Horrid toys in nasty packaging with the threat "collect them all!" in joyful writing. Nasty tiny bits of hard plastic to disable a soft parental foot. Packaging with cute pictures and scenery to facilitate play. Packaging which, actually, forms part of the toy AND YOU THREW IT AWAY! WAIL!
That has all gone. The bedroom is much tidier. There are still too many toys crammed into too little space, piles of jigsaws and boxed games teeter, books, now stacked neatly between bookends wait to scud again off the top of the chest of drawers and across the floorboards.
There are boxes stacked perilously on top of and in front of another chest of drawers too, rendering them unopenable. These boxes contain much-loved dolls, knotty haired princesses with impossible bosoms. I fought my way past these to look in the drawers and what did I find? Nothing. Four completely empty drawers. This is what the shed looks like. Empty storage cowering behind towers of unidentifiable garage rot. That is their father's influence.
Behind these heaps is the door to another room. In there lurks piles of sad things sorted aeons ago for a "car boot sale". Theoretically this is the "spare room". It is a Bone Of Contention which I raised tonight with aforementioned father of my children. Funny how he suddenly offered to take and fetch H6 and friend.
Last night I dreamed of removing all the books from the bookshelves, dusting (who dreams of dusting?!) painting the walls and replacing the books, neatly and orderly.
Tonight, if I survive the kangaroo court, I will once again dream of skips and purges.
Not bad mummy, good mummy, I dream of purges, but chicken out. Yes indeedy to the chill of the threat of Collect Them All, something children nod at while our gastric juices do nasty things to our insides. I imagine Rainbows is like Beavers but for girls - something which didn't exist In Our Day and just another thing to add to the guilt and irritation. Come and tidy here anytime ... oh, and brave new blog look, I rather like it. I toy with the idea occasionally but am far too cowardly.
ReplyDeleteCan so empathise with this ...I look at MY summer house, purchased with the intention of having somewhere to paint, craft, write or ruminate...and guess what ...the football boots, the flurescent tops, walking gear, camping stuff, animal feed and horror of horrors a chain saw beat me to it ...I dream of long languid summer days being like Dylan Thomas at Laugharne only I need a skip to even get in there
ReplyDeleteI am always The Mummy Who Forgot - how do other people manage it, I wonder? To remember, I mean - there's always so much stuff, and every day there are new letters about a school trip here, a cubs activity day there, a request to man a stall at the School fete... And as for bulging bags of half-made things in cardboard...
ReplyDeleteLovely blog - could really empathise with you.
. . .sigh . . . I used to purge as well - then as the kids got older and they argued 'this is MY room . . butt out' - I could see their point and just kept the door shut. Now they have left home and I could have the purge of a lifetime . . . but it turned into a teary trip down memory lane - so beware the purges . . . oneday you will have all you want . . .
ReplyDeleteEven without children at home any more I dream of purging being married to he who hoards. In some way it is better in that he now has a workshop but in other ways worse because now he really will not throw anything away and the workshop is getting harder and harder to get into and to walk through. If I suggest that there must be the odd thing which could be disposed of (I can for example see an aged wonky hula hoop) he looks at me as i am quite, quite mad.
ReplyDeleteOh yes. Oh yes. I am your evil twin from Somerset. She Who Throws Away. She Who Forgets. Also, like ElizM, married to He Who Hoards. Woe. Thank all the gods that James hasn't shown the slightest inclination for Beavers/Brownies/Rainbows whatever it is....but that still leaves numerous other clubs with numerous other slips of paper to be lost and forgotten. I am sin binned at the moment for trying to 'lose' a vast group effort of a mythical beast (something large, pink and constructed from large wine boxes that takes up half the bedroom). I so nearly succeeded.
ReplyDelete