In my defence I was running a bit late and I was a little flappy.
I had a friend coming over for a drink, the dishwasher was screaming to be emptied, clean clothes were turning to cardboard in protest of being left out to dry for so long. There was something mysterious in the toilet bowl and the hoover was shaking in the garage at the thought of the mammoth task ahead of him on my rugs.
I had a lot to and less than an hour to do it in.
Add to that three kids, three school bags, three swimming bags, three packed lunches, and three bedtimes and that equals a bitch of a mother.
But in my defence I had a lot on.
Would a jury in the land acquit me on this basis? Possibly not, but I feel it is important that you understand the stress I was under that night.
It was obvious I was going to explode, the question was simply, which one of my trio would light my keg.
The girls picked up on my harassed state quickly. Molly made herself helpful and emptied the swimming bags, took Libby-Sue to brush her teeth. She silently packed away the lunch boxes and helped her little sister into bed.
Had I not been dashing around with a duster in one hand, a hoover up my arse, and a plunger tucked under my elbow, I may have thanked her and recognised her good behaviour. Like the parenting books tell you to.
Instead I merely bellowed a ‘don’t forget to brush her hair’ to my nine year old Mary Poppins, and ignored the muttered ‘you’re welcome’ that echoed after me.
Owen, god bless his mismatching cotton socks, has none of his sisters common sense.
As my heart rate started racing and my stress levels rose, it merely served to kick starts his annoying mechanism and thrust his irritating gear into action.
I watched him, as I tried to retrieve something indescribable from the loo, whilst questioning how a small child created it; as he had to hunt for each cat in turn to say hello.
I watched him, as I hoovered rugs coated in fluff, as he tore off his coat and flung it in the direction of a chair.
I watched him, as I emptied clean plates from the dishwasher back into their homes, as he kicked a shoe towards the hallway, then the next into the little loo.
Then I stepped out of my body and watched a demon take over my soul and let rip as he lay on his bed, still fully dressed, and prepared to smash Man U on Fifa 15 on his iPod
Lucifer himself would have slapped on his PJ’s and ‘gone to bloody bed’ has he had the misfortune to be stood in the twins bedroom at that moment in time.
In retrospect I may have over reacted….
By 8pm the kids were in bed, the house coated in darkness with candles and lamps lit to hide the unclean. The wine was chilling on the side and cashews nuts were in a bowl asking to be nibbled upon.
My throat was a little sore, but otherwise everything else seemed tikady boo.
It was a nice night, we had fun, my friend and I. Although as I hit the sheets that night, I did question if my lifelong ban of using all tablets, Playstations, Ipods and phones may have been a wee bit harsh on Owen.
The next day dawned, and the morning routine was the usual chaos of missing socks, lost shoes, and requests for outlandish breakfasts that were never going to be achieved.
I barely had time to think, never mind to talk about the appropriateness of my punishment….
It was only when I reached the office an hour later, after dropping the kids off to my free childcare solution, when I remembered the night before and my heart broke in two.
I found this note in my bag…
I love you to the moon and back. You are the best mum a child could have. I am so sorry what I did last night I was naughty love you.
Love from Owen
Nothing like a heavy dose of parental guilt to make the working day go on forever.
I felt awful. A true cow of a mother, I could barely remember what he had done, I was tormented by guilt and all I could see was…
A little boy who had snuck out of his room at night, risking my terrible temper to leave me a note full of love.
A little boy who had apologised for not really doing anything barr being annoying. (Which is a character trait of most nine year old boys).
A little boy who I, a big woman, had shouted at like a fish wife with a megaphone.
So I did what any guilt ridden parent would do.
I went and bought chocolate for the kid.
I turned up at school, hat in my hands, sadness etched on my face. I saw my son, and held him so tight he must have feared he would break.
I told him how much I loved his letter, I told him all technology bans were off, I gave him the box of chocolates, and I cuddled him again.
When he broke free of my grasp, he smiled at me, in an angelic like way, then fist pumped the air and cried…
“Yes! I knew that would work! Get in….”
Played like a fiddle people, I was played like a fiddle….