10 infuriating things preschoolers do

Anna Hughes - 15 Mar 15

When I was six, I kicked a girl in the shin in John Lewis. I have a very clear memory of it. It was quite out of character for me which is perhaps why I remember it so well. The reason I kicked her was because she was whining very loudly. I’d been watching her from behind my mum’s skirt and I was getting irritated. Really irritated. So I kicked her!

The girl cried and I didn’t even feel bad. I just stared at her for ten seconds and then walked away, satisfied that I now felt less irritated. I’m not proud of it. I certainly didn’t make a habit of it.

27 years later and I still get that same feeling of irritation when I hear whining, particularly if it’s coming from my own offspring. And unfortunately for me, the three year old is currently at it a lot. As kicking kids is generally frowned upon these days, I have to just take a deep breath and do my best not to implode.

It’s hard though. Because when you team that awful, incessant sound with other really irritating things that happen when looking after small people, it becomes difficult to behave in a respectable, grown up manner.

For instance, just yesterday, while I had two sobbing children clinging onto my legs as I whisked eggs at the speed of sound, I had an overwhelming urge to repeatedly jab a fork into my eye while saying this: fuckssakefuckssakerrrrrrrghhhh!!

A friend once described to me how, when at home with her two kids, she briefly left the room to quietly kick a wall with all her might. You’d never guess in a million years this beautiful, calm, even tempered lady would have it in her to behave in such a thuggish manner. But that’s what children have done to us.

I remember when my eldest was going through a hitting phase when she was about two. I braved taking her and her brand new sister to a cafe for lunch. She decided she wanted to run off through the automatic doors towards the harbour outside. I ran after her and picked her up.

She angrily screamed as loud as she possibly could before slapping me across the face, hard, no less than three times. Big slapping sounds echo through the building. Stares from other diners. At that moment it took everything in me to not smack her. I will never smack her. It’s not for me. I’d rather jab a fork in my own eye than harm her. But it really took everything.

Afterwards, after ditching the uneaten food I’d paid for, forcing said child into the buggy using my knee, flinging overpacked, crumb, raisin and litter laden bag onto my shoulder, I huffed and I puffed back to the car at 100mph. SO. ANGRY.

I can confidently say my kids do AT LEAST two infuriating, blood pressure raising, ‘fork in eye’ inducing things each and every day. Come 7pm, when they are in their beds, I join most parents in a communal glass of wine and massive sigh of relief. ‘Thank fuck for that’ we all say.

But before the evening is done, there I am, beaming away at images, videos even, of my kids’ little heads on my phone, reliving events from the day through actual choice. My husband gets a detailed presentation. We coo and marvel at their hilarious anecdotes and cute faces. As though an Instagram filter has been applied to my memory.

I suppose this is a reassuring indicator of how much I love those little bastards.

Until the next day. When they will do most of the following:

1. They sit on your feet when you are at the most dangerous point of food preparation e.g. when pouring boiling water over pasta, carrying large knife to sink. There’s a whole house they could play in.

2. They call at high volume: “Mummy? Mummy? Mummyyyy? MUMMMMYYYYY?”
“YES?! WHATISIT??!!” You answer.
Total silence.

3. The later you are, the slower they become. Sometimes, when you are at last poised to leave the house, they will stand completely still, blocking the front door, and won’t move. You stand, red faced behind them, carrying at least three bags, one scooter, one helmet, one stuffed animal, a human being, keys, phone and one stinking, heavy nappy bag that you’ve been meaning to chuck out all day.

4. The kids have been really hard work all day. Your other half arrives through the front door. They immediately become little angels.

5. You decide you’re going to make more effort with their lunch. You spend ages preparing a meal. They won’t even try it. They even get upset. If you’re really lucky they’ll chuck it straight on the floor.

6. They act like a total brat every time you meet one particular person. That person believes you have a bratty child.

7. You make the mistake of letting your child choose their own outfit. They discover the hideous sparkly ‘daddy’s little princess’ T shirt that mysteriously turned up in their nursery bag and you’ve been meaning to return.

8. They make unreasonable requests when you’re running late and about to get out of the door. It leaves you with a difficult choice – ‘do I say no and we’ll miss our appointment due to time taken to unpeel child from the floor, or do I just let her wear daddy’s boots?’

9. You attempt to slap on some make up. Make up becomes the most fascinating toy in the house. Little fingers rummage. Compacts are dropped. Blushers are stolen. Mascaras are unscrewed and dropped on the carpet.

10. You run off to use the loo, thinking about how much you’ll enjoy that 30 seconds of peace. The second you sit down, everyone turns up at your feet. It’s the tiniest room in the house. If you’re lucky, you might even get a ‘well done mummy!’ when you’re finished.

Motherhood is different for all of us… if you’d like to share your thoughts, why not join our Network & start posting?

Anna Hughes

Bristol based writer and mother of 2 small people aged 2 and 4. Regular finder of banana in her hair and raisins in her shoes. Follow if you fancy an honest but (hopefully) smirk inducing account of real life mothering. No frump, no fluff, just the (occasionally harsh) truth. Tweet the Author: @bananainmyhair

View profile for posts, events and more info