Because The Term ‘Big Trunk’ IS FUNNY…

So, including the couple of weeks I did from home prior to venturing into the big, wide, often grubby but jam-packed with enough badass clothes and food shops to counteract any hygiene concerns, world of London, my one month trial as a full time worker is coming to an end. Yesterday, it was review time. Was my boss happy? Was I happy? Did I want to carry on?

No….I didn’t…..

Sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I’m just dicking with you. Of course I did. Of. Course. I. Bloody. Did. I’m having the time of my freaking life. And I’m really sorry because that might sound gloaty or showy-offy and I know, nobody likes a smart arse (yes, smug mum acquaintance who, after my request for hangover cures on Facebook, responded with ‘I’ve never had a hangover so I can’t help you on this one’ – THAT MEANS YOU) but if I tell you that, prior to coming back to work, I largely spent the previous two years crying, enduring 4am anxiety attacks and repeatedly berating myself for generally being shit at life, then hopefully me saying ‘actually, yeah, things are pretty good right now’ won’t make me seem like such a wanker.

So yeah, things really are pretty good right now. The job is ace, I work with a lovely, funny bunch of people – not one of whom has ever told me anything remotely passive aggressive about their kids and what they’re capable of – and as a result I am laughing a lot. Like, proper laughing where my face hurts, not manic laughing that has been instigated by my daughter rubbing yoghurt up the wall and, as a result of me being so exhausted, I can’t do what I want to do, which is cry, for fear of passing out (because obviously, me passing out = nobody to stop the kids getting those indelible ‘children’s’ paints out = another fucking wash to put on when I come round).

Where was I? Oh yes. So all good. Getting the work done, raising a lot of eyebrows (ok, raising BOTH eyebrows, that’s pretty much the maximum eyebrows any one person can raise) when anyone apologises for the heavy workload because seriously, compared to 6.30am-8pm of pure, unrelenting kids, a full-on day or writing and researching is genuinely a doddle in comparison, and feeling a whole lot better in myself and what I am capable of. Sure, I have guilt and there are still flashes of ‘my children, I have ABANDONED MY CHILDREN’ panic that run through my mind each day but I find I can usually stamp on these with a quick text to our lovely nanny to see how everyone’s getting on. Failing that, I just bob out to Urban Outfitters and look at pretty things until the worry dissipates (‘ooh, fake-vintage necklaces….Children? Eh? What?).

Anyway, chat with boss went well, I’ve signed up for another few months and hopefully many more will come after that. And, in celebration of this very news and of life generally picking up a bit, and in a kind of farewell to the stay-at-home mum in me, I thought what better way to remind me that I’m doing the right thing than with a little review of my SAHM cock-ups. The clangers. The bollocks I dropped. The opposite of highlights. Basically, the shit that happened when I was with my kids. I like to think of it as not totally dissimilar to the part in the Oscars where they show you a montage of who died and their work. Although obviously in this case nothing died. Except my soul, obviously, but I think I might have resuscitated that so dry your eyes and cancel the wreath. It was touch and go at one point, but soul hasn’t taken its last breath yet.

No. I’m not on drugs. Well, not illegal ones anyway. I’ll shut up now. Here are my motherly balls-ups:

After a particularly stressful day at home with the kids that had seen them throwing Whiskas around the kitchen, we had to then go to a bonfire party at the home of my husband’s boss. Through no fault of my own, and through every fault of the boss for having rosé wine when EVERYONE knows you should never EVER give a highly emotional woman with a screaming child on her hip rosé wine, I got drunk. About an hour into the party, I thought ‘sod this’ and, grabbing the nearest available stranger, handed them my baby, briefing them with the words “if her hands smell of fish, it’s because she’s been eating cat biscuits”. And off I fucked to get more wine.

Social Services In A Glass

Getting a serious, and somewhat inappropriate attack of the giggles at the local music class when, as part of ‘Africa Week’, the teacher encouraged the kids to join in with the words “come on kids! Dangle with me. We all like a big trunk don’t we?”

One Christmas, attempting to make my own mincemeat (don’t start), I had just bobbed in to Tesco Metro to buy a quarter bottle of whisky. Trying to channel my inner green goddess, I decided to say no to the plastic bag and just chucked the bottle in the nappy bag. Naturally, seeing as I apparently live in sitcom-world, who did I bump into just moments later, whiskey bottle sticking out of my nappy bag? That bitchfacesmuggysupermum who, just the day before, I’d been telling how fraught and desperate for a drink I was. ‘Hello alcoholic’ – that’s pretty much what her eyes said to me.

Scrambling around a church altar during a playgroup nativity service as my errant toddler, complete with bulging shitty nappy, took the opportunity of the diversion of every other child angelically singing Away In A Manger to leg it from me. There was a plus point to this, however – as we all filed out of the church, the hot vicar complimented me on my rugby tackle. Phwoarrrr, hot vicars totally dig a woman who knows how to floor a stinking 2 year old in a place of all that is holy. Get. IN.

Crying, in front of the kids, at Subo singing Both Sides Now on This Morning as they rubbed Sudocrem into my good coat. Hey, we’ve all been there, right? RIGHT?

Shit. Scary.

The moment when, as I was loading one kid into the car, my son decided to lean on the horn one morning after a particularly stressful playgroup that had witnessed me breastfeed my daughter CONTINUOUSLY for THREE FUCKING HOURS. This would not have been so bad if we weren’t parked up outside a church. Which we were. Or if there had not been a funeral taking place. Which there was. Or, had he not taken the precise moment the coffin was pulled from the hearse to start his honkathon. Which he totally did. My son heckled a corpse. Is it any wonder I quit full-time motherhood?

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

19 thoughts on “Because The Term ‘Big Trunk’ IS FUNNY…

  1. Troubles Mum says:

    Brilliant, again. That SuBo pic is immensely scary. No wonder you went back to work. I am so glad it’s going well. How is the nanny? I think a good one makes it far easier to leave the house and get on with things.

    Please come and link this up soon at We do a #FailFriday linky from time to time where we share our parenting lows for the mental benefit of all other parenting losers. You would be most welcome. Not that I’m saying you’re a loser obviously. You got out. You are one of the lucky ones.

  2. farfromhomemama says:

    This made me laugh so much. So glad you’ve put all this in print. Your kids need to read this when they’re older particularly the funeral heckling. So awful but so funny. Congrats on the job front. Sounds like they’re njoying your company as much as you theirs.

  3. Oh that was good! Please continue to blog as a working mum – you are brilliant!

  4. Feel qualified to comment as am crippled with hangover and letting my kids watch unsuitable TV instead of getting them out in the fresh air. This made me cry with laughter. Am going to put it on my facebook page as I have some friends who would appreciate it.

    • Thanks doll, that’s very kind of you. Hangover + kids = GRIM. I feel your pain but also admire your dedication to booze – we all know the morning/afternoon after is going to be hideous but sometimes, you just have to drink. Hard.

  5. Steph says:

    Hilarious. And yes, big trunk is definitely worthy of a laugh.

  6. Claire@Mummy Plum says:

    This is brilliant. I am struggling with the guilt of ‘can I go back, can I leave my child?’ but the thought of just nipping down to Urban Outfitters and perusing some vintage jewels…well, I feel much more positive about it now.

  7. Oh God. I am sooooo jealous. A whole day of writing and researching!!!! You mean, seven hours? *weeps* *comfort-eats a slice of regurgitated nutella on toast*

  8. Susie says:

    A friend recommended your blog – and on the basis of reading one post, I think I love you. You made me laugh out loud (no mean feat, have been in tears this morning for the heinous crime of leaving my daughter with a childminder for five whole hours).

    • Thanks so much. And the childminder thing? That will get tons easier. Soon you will wonder how you managed without the childminder time! Thanks again, really appreciate the nice comment x

  9. Kyla taylor says:

    That post had me in stitches… Working makes me a better mum. I’m rubbish at being home all day, I haven’t got a imaginative bone in my body so unless I was spending money life was not so much fun!!!
    Enjoy your job and your hangovers!!!

    • Thank you! There was a great column today in the daily mail (of all bloody places) where Lorraine Candy, the editor of Elle, pretty much said the same thing. That she is a better mother for working, it is just what works for her family, and she was totally unapologetic for it. A breath of fresh air. Ditto your comment. Thanks again x

  10. Just brilliant – had me and husband in stitches reading that out to him. Can’t decide whether your corpse-heckling-son or your big-trunk-lady is funnier.

    And sooooo jealous of you enjoying yourself back at work.

    Onto the highlight of MY life: (drumroll please…) we now use DRY cat food. Oh yes, sir-ee, you heard me right.


  11. ATO Mum says:

    Currently avoiding work by blog reading instead (which is just as valid a use of DS2s time at the childminder surely??) – the funeral heckling is going to make me laugh for the rest of the week!

  12. Mayfair Mum says:

    You’re brilliant! I’m chortling. What more is there to say? Enjoy working it changes your life for the better in so many ways. The nanny will make the childcare thing SO much easier – if the kids are happy, and you’re happy with the nanny, you can all be happy and guilt free. I’ve swapped from Grannie Daycare to another day and a half of day nursery and I’d swap back in an instant if she hadn’t retired…

  13. I like the funeral one best. I think my worst was insisting on breasfeeding my 4 week old baby in Starbucks because it just had to be done! She was asleep and not interested but I went on bopping her in the face with my boob just to prove I could do it. Lunatic!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: