Feet of Clay


Feet of Clay

My mum is known to quote that ‘We all have feet of clay’ every now and then.  I love that saying and it is very true.  So why have I chosen it as today’s blog post?  It’s because I have huge clay feet, in fact I think I have concrete feet some days.

A while ago, an acquaintance read one of my posts and said  ‘Aw, you sound like such a good mum!’ which was lovely, but I fear if I’m giving that impression all the time, I’m misleading you all terribly.

On Friday my son came home from nursery and I didn’t know what do with him.  So he played Lego Batman.  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that?!’ I hear you say.  Well……he played Lego Batman from 1pm till 6pm with ocassional loo breaks.  We played the game together at points, but mostly I drifted in and out of the living room with random bits of washing and sat on my puter talking to other people who sound like really good mums, while my son sat in the other room bashing lego men to pieces.  I supplied food and drinks, and cuddles when I ambled through and he threw his arms out shouting ‘Huddle!’  But that was it, for about 5 guilt-ridden hours.

He was happy, I was bored.  Mum was being very lax, make no mistake.  I switched the game off eventually when he padded upstairs to talk to me whilst on the loo, with his eyes wide as saucers he said ‘Found another mini-kit mummy!’ and babbled about Poisonous Ivy or whatever her name is. He looked like his whole world had become lego infested.   That’s not being an exemplary example of a doting mother is it?  That’s someone virtually allowing their child to be adopted by a Playstation 3.

Yesterday I decided to have some quality time with my daughter.  Horace went over to the other house to heft bricks about and hammer stuff, while I stayed with Darlek.  She wanted to have a go on our Xbox Kinect game so I went along with that.  I went ‘Woo!’ at the appropriate bits when it looked like her bounding around the living room was winning her points, and clapped every now and then.  To my shame, my next step was to fall soundly asleep in a heap on the sofa with a blanket.  For about an hour.  I’d had a lie in, I had no excuse.  Darlek had spent quality time with the X box, mum had spent quality time with a snuggly blanket.

I have made lazy meals most of this week for the family as I’m still on this Jenny Craig diet so my enthusiasm for cooking is pretty low.  In fact I have perfected a 3 tin meal, the ultimate in crappy cooking.  Empty one tin of lentil soup into a pan, empty another tin of stewed steak into it. Heat.  Mix.  Feed to kids.  For dessert, tinned peaches.  There was none left for Horace, he had frozen pizza for tea that he cooked himself because I beggared off for a bath.  The perfect wife & domestic goddess?  Nope.

To my shame, this morning I buttered some toast with the wrong end of a fork because I’d forgotten to put the dishwasher on and I couldn’t be bothered to wash a knife.  It didn’t work very well and I have done this many times before.  Moi?  Lazy?

The bathroom needs cleaning. Horace resembles a yeti at times, and when he washes his hair he always leaves strands of long hair in the bath.  Rather than fishing them out, I simply used the shower head to blast them down the plughole.  Our bath isn’t draining very well.  Wonder why?

Half of our bedroom floor in the attic is unnavigable, because after the day is done I can’t be arsed to neatly fold and arrange clothes.  I am cultivating clothes drifts.  Imagine the Artic with all its peaks and troughs & drifts of snow, substitute the snow with twice worn jeans and tops with dinner on them.  Nice.

Next to my bed I have two towers of books, approximately 15 of them I think.  Most half read, many to be read again – all of which lack bookmarks so I never know where I’m up to.  I never get around to putting them back on the bookcase because if I try I’ll undoubtedly fall over the clothes drift and drop them.

It does get worse, and the frustrating thing is I try so hard.  The other weekend Horace went over to his mum’s, and I quite simply stayed home to catch up.  Not meaning to bore you but….I cleaned the bathroom, hoovered the entire house, did about 6 loads of washing, put all the dry washing away, dusted (I never dust!),   tidied rooms, emptied bins, changed all the beds, did all the washing up, gutted the kitchen….and frankly ran round in circles an awful lot.  And now, you’d never know.  I hate housework, it should be banned.  I want to live in a tent.  You don’t need to dust in tents and there’s no room for clothes drifts.  You’ve never heard of ‘Tentwork’ have you now?

So, that’s me signing off for the evening.  And before I go let me describe my puter desk to you.  One empty mug, one crumby plate, one free range Spiderman disc, one empty cellotape dispenser, an empty picture frame, paper bills, paper blogging notes, one glove, another glove (different pair), a book to review, an empty notebook case, a half written note book, 2p, a christmas card, my puter notebook (out of case), one sweet wrapper, a pen, a small jewellery box without a lid, an elastic band, an empty bag that used to have cookies in it, and there’s probably more.  I have just enough room on the slide out drawer beneath it to fit my keyboard and my mouse (soon to run out of batteries or cheese or whatever it runs on).

I have no idea why my family don’t just take me to the second hand mum shop and swap me for another better, faster, more efficient new mum.   So you see, I have feet of clay, don’t ever let me kid you otherwise…..

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6 responses to “Feet of Clay

  1. Are you somehow living with me? Like, hiding, in the same house on the far side of my clothes mountain range?

  2. pmsl, pmsl, Kays a hopeless mum, Kays a hopeless mum…..or is it more
    .yyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh somebody else who is human – not perfect. Im sure neither child came to any lasting damage by amusing themselves, something my granddaughter is totally incapable of doing, if you set her a task and go away to play with grandson she feels she is “missing out” and will not stick at set task for anymore than a jumping flea sits on a hot brick, before she has to wander back and see what we up to.
    Just watch out for the woozles that live behind the clothes drifts.

  3. Why would your kids want a Stepford Mum when they have a lovely witty warm Mum like you? A spotless tidy home and a Mum who organises every moment of their lives isn’t what kids want. They want a place to feel relaxed inand some time to just be themselves. That’s what yours have.

  4. And I’d like to add that on my desk there is a pile of function tickets, some throat lozenges, three half-used notebooks, business cards from 5 different companies that I’ve been meaning to contact for months, a lip balm, a jam jar of pens, a pile of dusty paperclips, the free clipboard that came with the first issue of a mag that went out of print 15 years ago, a tin of miracle calorie burning drink that I’m too much of a wimp to try, a box of tissues and an empty tea mug. Empty? EMPTY! I’d better go and put that right immediately…….

  5. As has already been said, you are human! Housework is monotonous and never ending, you do it, then there’s some more to do. Lovely, well written, humourous article. Made me smile on my grumpy Monday morning xxx

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