I’m amazed I haven’t been institutionalised yet, ten years of being a mother really does deserve a medal or at least a psychiatric assessment.
Take this morning, a trip in the car for a sunny walk, picture perfect parenting so far. Five minutes into the journey, I shit you not, this was the conversation:
No 2: I’ve got Illuminati on my nose.
No. 1: No, it can’t be. You’ve got blue eyes and there’s no green on your nose.
What. The. Fuck?
That’s Illumin-ahtay, not some new, glowing foundation. Apparently they’ve been watching YouTube again. I hate YouTube, I know it’s mainly populated by guys in their twenties that have an overinflated sense of self and believe any conspiracy going but Illuminati noses?
After a quick rendition of what I’ve subsequently found out was an attempt at the theme tune to The X-Files, No. 1 decides to throw another YouTube paranoia into the mix:
No. 1: I think I’ve got rabies.
Me: What? <Checks rear view mirror frantically>
No 1: Yep, I’ve got loads of spit in my mouth.
No. 2 & 3: Me too, I always have spit in my mouth.
Me: That’s not rabies, spit is normal. Everyone gets different levels of spit in their mouth.
No. 1, 2 & 3: Why?
Me: What? Erm, well when you’re talking too much. Try being quiet an see if it stops <genius parenting>< settles in for peace><deluded>
No. 3: When I get it I always swallow
No. 2: [name of friend] doesn’t, he spits it out.
Chorus: Urgh! You can’t spit, you should swallow, it’s not that bad!
When we finally arrive I discover that I managed to leave my wallet at home and now face the prospect of mutiny once they realise that the
bribe promise of ice cream is in jeopardy. I root through every ashtray in the car to find some coins and then pounce on the changing bag to see if there’s any of the loose stuff at the bottom. What I find are the crumbled remains of a gingerbread man, a chocolate brownie and a pack of biscuits from a trip to Costa a couple of weeks ago (from the children, I would never have leftovers. I’ve been brought up right don’t you know).
I’m grabbing fistfuls of softened crumbs and emptying them onto the ground behind me until there’s more cumbs up my fingernails than in my bag. I then straighten up and turn around to see a couple watching me disapprovingly.Without missing a beat I announce that we’ve created a “lovely meal for the birdies” and casually rake a hand through my hair before remembering the crumbs and have to shake my head like a demented head banger whilst wrestling No 4. into the pushchair.
I think I need to start watching some YouTubers on style and beauty. I’m guessing cake crumbs aren’t going to feature.
Oh, and my wallet? You know where it was. Exactly. In the car all along.