I really really really really like you . . . although . . .
1
You to me are everything (as the song goes) and to paraphrase Ross Geller, if anyone ever hurt you, I’d want to hunt them down and kick their ass. I love you to infinity, and that will never change. But sometimes, as a mum, I catch myself being annoyed about or saying things I never thought I would, because they just seem so . . . tedious. Boring. Broken record-esque.
When we are putting your shoes on, even though you can do it yourself, you never fail to insist on giving me the wrong foot, despite me tapping your little leg and repeating ‘That
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one! That one! I want that one!’ in true Little Britain style.
When we have lunch and you deny ever liking, let alone eating, sausage and mash, even though you asked for it and you eat it *quite* a lot and now you are shouting that you DON’T like it and you will NOT be my friend anymore. ‘Eat that now or there will be no Go Jetters today!’ I cry. ‘I mean it! I’m going to count to three! I mean it!’
As opposed to – not really meaning it because I love it when you waste food and go hungry? And counting to three shows what? I can
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count?
When you’re dressing, and you refuse to wear this t-shirt or those trousers because you don’t like zips but they haven’t even got a zip on them. But I cannot be bothered to go and find you a whole new outfit, so I find myself impatiently ignoring your wails and insisting you WILL wear it and for goodness sake just stop it – and apparently, I’m still really meaning it.
When you crawl under the bed so I can’t brush your hair or teeth even though I’m repeating ‘We’re running late again, we have to go NOW, come here! If you
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don’t come here now I’ll . . . *racks brain for more bribery options*’ and you laugh and roll away even further.
I don’t like getting cross with you, you see. The guilt stays with me for far longer than it bothers you. Guilt that you are just four, and you’re simply doing what four-year-olds who like to test their parents’ patience do. I wouldn’t like being told off for being a 36-year-old. No that’s NOT how you should do your hair! No that ISN’T the cocktail you want! No, you DON’T need a coffee – I mean it! I’m going to count
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to three and then I want you to GIVE YOUR PHONE TO ME AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU’VE DONE! Sometimes, when I catch myself nagging I just have to laugh. Because it can all be a bit ridiculous, can’t it? The things you go nuts about sometimes: ‘But but I don’t waaaaaaant to sit on the brown sofa because I can’t see the TVeeeeeeeeeeee!’ you wail. I point out it’s right in front of the TV and you cry even louder. ‘But I can’t see it mummy! You’re wrong! Don’t say that it’s horrible!’ Erm, okay . . .
A while ago I read this quote from
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Mike Power in the Guardian and it still helps today:
’You can’t be too kind or too patient, or too silly with toddlers: your first response in any difficult situation should be slapstick. Toddlers are the funniest creatures on earth: wild as wombats, but with human features and habits.’
As a parent, it’s really hard to take a deep breath when you’re tired and fed up and annoyed because a small person is wailing incessantly and for no good reason. Patience isn’t limitless, after all. And of course, it’s different if they’re being
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really naughty and need to understand why that is Absolutely Not Allowed (You Little Ratbag).
But I love the wombat approach, which I’ll try hard to remember, the next time I’m huffing and puffing because my favourite small person is pretending to be a rocket ship instead of putting his coat on. And yes, I really mean it.
Image credit: Ten Sculptures in Ten Days
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SARAH TOPPING - 21 Mar 17
You to me are everything (as the song goes) and to paraphrase Ross Geller, if anyone ever hurt you, I’d want to hunt them down and kick their ass. I love you to infinity, and that will never change. But sometimes, as a mum, I catch myself being annoyed about or saying things I never thought I would, because they just seem so . . . tedious. Boring. Broken record-esque.
When we are putting your shoes on, even though you can do it yourself, you never fail to insist on giving me the wrong foot, despite me tapping your little leg and repeating ‘That one! That one! I want that one!’ in true Little Britain style.
When we have lunch and you deny ever liking, let alone eating, sausage and mash, even though you asked for it and you eat it *quite* a lot and now you are shouting that you DON’T like it and you will NOT be my friend anymore. ‘Eat that now or there will be no Go Jetters today!’ I cry. ‘I mean it! I’m going to count to three! I mean it!’
As opposed to – not really meaning it because I love it when you waste food and go hungry? And counting to three shows what? I can count?
When you’re dressing, and you refuse to wear this t-shirt or those trousers because you don’t like zips but they haven’t even got a zip on them. But I cannot be bothered to go and find you a whole new outfit, so I find myself impatiently ignoring your wails and insisting you WILL wear it and for goodness sake just stop it – and apparently, I’m still really meaning it.
When you crawl under the bed so I can’t brush your hair or teeth even though I’m repeating ‘We’re running late again, we have to go NOW, come here! If you don’t come here now I’ll . . . *racks brain for more bribery options*’ and you laugh and roll away even further.
I don’t like getting cross with you, you see. The guilt stays with me for far longer than it bothers you. Guilt that you are just four, and you’re simply doing what four-year-olds who like to test their parents’ patience do. I wouldn’t like being told off for being a 36-year-old. No that’s NOT how you should do your hair! No that ISN’T the cocktail you want! No, you DON’T need a coffee – I mean it! I’m going to count to three and then I want you to GIVE YOUR PHONE TO ME AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU’VE DONE! Sometimes, when I catch myself nagging I just have to laugh. Because it can all be a bit ridiculous, can’t it? The things you go nuts about sometimes: ‘But but I don’t waaaaaaant to sit on the brown sofa because I can’t see the TVeeeeeeeeeeee!’ you wail. I point out it’s right in front of the TV and you cry even louder. ‘But I can’t see it mummy! You’re wrong! Don’t say that it’s horrible!’ Erm, okay . . .
A while ago I read this quote from Mike Power in the Guardian and it still helps today:
‘You can’t be too kind or too patient, or too silly with toddlers: your first response in any difficult situation should be slapstick. Toddlers are the funniest creatures on earth: wild as wombats, but with human features and habits.’
As a parent, it’s really hard to take a deep breath when you’re tired and fed up and annoyed because a small person is wailing incessantly and for no good reason. Patience isn’t limitless, after all. And of course, it’s different if they’re being really naughty and need to understand why that is Absolutely Not Allowed (You Little Ratbag).
But I love the wombat approach, which I’ll try hard to remember, the next time I’m huffing and puffing because my favourite small person is pretending to be a rocket ship instead of putting his coat on. And yes, I really mean it.
Image credit: Ten Sculptures in Ten Days
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Sarah Topping is a freelance creative copywriter at Playing with Words and former copywriter at Penguin Children's. Her clients include Pottermore from J.K. Rowling, Enid Blyton Entertainment, BBC Worldwide, Puffin Books and World Book Day. Sarah lives in London with her husband Adam and their sons Zachary and Jonah, who rock (and rule) their world.
In between freelancing, she writes children’s stories and blogs about motherhood in all its guises, from the magic and joy to the potty training, tantrums and tripping over toys (pass the wine!).
@SarahTopping3
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