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Whole fucking show

Why is it when you want the kids to come to you when asked it’s a performance? No, it’s a whole fucking show.


I'll ask, be ignored. Ask again slightly louder with a please chucked in. Still ignored. Call their individual names, now I've got their attention but receive the wrath only a parent could receive when trying to leave the bloody house.


Get moaned at by my eldest for interrupting her game which can never, ever be paused or come back to again and I've more than likely ruined forever. I mean, a Barbie’s hair being brushed is important I know, but jeez.


Youngest follows suit and screams "No!" at me, whilst lobbing something probably dinosaur related at me.


Check the damage made by youngest, whatever it was he lobbed at me didn't leave an immediate mark, so winning. Can thank my bloody husband for passing on those cricket genes down to him later. Least he'll make a good bowler one day. Glad my head is being put to good use as practise in the meantime.


Tenderly ask eldest to go to the toilet before we leave the house. Get moaned at again, this time it’s for not actually needing a wee. Which, a normal person would think hey it’s your bladder, who am I to say when it’s full or not? But you just know the one time you believe said child and leave the house, it'll be in the middle of a food shop, trolley half way packed when you'll get the soft, doe-eyed "mummy I need a wee". I told you so's don’t really work in these situations either, something about pissing in an aisle may be frowned upon.


Ok we have emptied our bladders, we are downstairs, reluctantly but we are all here. Now let’s get our shoes on. Eldest is a dream at this, takes the lead, and does as she's told. Even gets her brothers and my shoes out for us, so sweet. Takes the sting away from the moans 5 minutes ago.


Youngest however, is a man on a mission to carry as many Peppa Pig toys in his tiny clutches as possible. He's got to about 4 and this is where he struggles, Miss Rabbit falls, then Daddy pig, then another Daddy pig until there’s 1 left, bloody Peppa herself and he lobs that out of frustration. Definitely hasn’t got the career of a fielder, but bowler I can definitely see.


Rub Eldests boo-boo made from youngests latest throw. Pin youngest down to put his shoes on, quickly stand him up, gather every bastard Peppa pig toy back up. Now he doesn’t want to bring them.


I throw them into the lounge in frustration. Wonder if it’s me who he gets his bowler skills from.


Open the door for them to run around in the garden whilst I finish getting ready.


They're loving being outside. Chasing each other, laughing, kicking the football.


My shoes are on.


Argument has broken out.


Door is locked.


Someone is crying.


I cannot be arsed to go now.







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