It has come to my attention that my mother has been doing rather a lot of complaining about me on this blog thing. If you ask me this whole blogging malarkey is just one of her little tricks to avoid doing more important things like doing jigsaw puzzles with me or reading my Dinosaur Roar! book.
Anyway, as far as I can tell, I am not coming out of this blog thing very well at all. Anyone reading it would think that I devote my entire life to trying to drive my mummy to drink. This could not be further than the truth. Obviously I do dedicate a small amount of effort to trying to drive her to drink (seems to be working very well judging by the number of empty white wine bottles in the recycling) but the vast majority of my time is spent labouring tirelessly to help her to be a better mother, the mother I know she can be.Take yesterday for example. Now if she was telling the story, I would no doubt be painted as the villain of the piece, wilfully refusing to give in to her demands and deliberately winding her up. But let’s look at what actually happened.
So we went to meet Jamie and his mummy at the café in the local shopping centre. Now Jamie and I are pretty familiar with this venue – our mummies spent enough time there when we were little after all – so we were looking forward to catching up without them hanging around us all the time. I would have thought they could have entertained themselves for a few minutes at their age while we pottered around. But no, of course not. They followed us around like a pair of particularly annoying lost puppies, shouting and stropping and generally trying to get our attention by loud, repetitive behaviour.And the constant barrage of questions. What are you doing? Why are you climbing that? Do you think that’s a good idea? After you’ve answered those same questions several times – I’m climbing, Don’t know and Yes – it does become a little wearing. If the questions were even intelligent it wouldn’t be so tedious, but I am beginning to think that my mother operates on a fairly low intellectual level. Whenever I try to engage her with philosophical questions like “What does left do?” or “What did daddy’s bike say?” or “Why is that other one?” she just starts moaning that she doesn’t understand.
And she is so irrational. She says “Stop climbing on that train” so I get down off the train and start climbing on the racing car instead, and then she starts jumping up and down and moaning that I am climbing on the thing she didn’t tell me not to climb on. So I humour her and climb on the Noddy car and lo and behold, more shouting and jumping up and down. Why can’t she just say what she means and not keep changing her mind all the time? Jamie’s mummy is just as bad, mind you. And they back each other up. Just like mummy and daddy do. I ask mummy for a biscuit and she immediately asks if I already asked daddy and what did he say? Honestly, one of these days she might actually make a parenting decision without seeking validation from someone else.Anyway, Jamie and I eventually had enough of their moaning and decided to be taken to the park. This took a bit of negotiation but we were firm and they eventually stopped flapping and got their things together and we left the cafe. My mummy was a bit difficult on the way to the park and I did get a bit riled with her. This was, I must admit, counter-productive as she just had a huge hissy-fit and got down on the pavement and started yelling and waving her arms about. I eventually managed to get the situation under control by just getting up and walking away. Sure enough she followed. It’s just a question of knowing how to manage them.
At the park it was Jamie’s mummy’s turn for a bit of attention-seeking behaviour. I mean, in the scheme of things, did it really matter that much if Jamie had cake before he finished his sandwich? But she latched onto the idea and went on and on about it until Jamie was almost beside himself with fury. He held it together pretty well, all things considered, and eventually decided that he would pick his battles and let her win the cake argument.They calmed down a bit in the playground and we actually got to talk without them interrupting. We were having a bit of a manly joke and I called Jamie a “cheeky, cheeky monkey”. Jamie’s mummy made some wisecrack about “Pot, cattle, black” or something like that. It was clearly supposed to be funny as the pair of them tittered like idiots. We probably should have called them up on their cheek but we just exchanged a bit of an eyeroll and let them get on with it. If you argued every point with them you would never get anything done.
On the way home mummy absolutely insisted on going into a supermarket. I knew this wouldn’t end well and tried to explain this to her but she just got the massive arse so I gave in. Sure enough she whinged at me all the way round. Leave that alone. Stop touching that. If she didn’t want me to touch it, why did she keep putting things within reach? She was clearly trying to provoke conflict.When daddy got home, I decided to tell him what had been going on. Of course he took her side. She did the whole “oh poor me, I’m so hard-done-by” routine and made him feel sorry for her. He and I need to have a bit of a talk about setting some consistent boundaries for her and making sure we are working as a team when it comes to enforcing those boundaries.
So you see, I have a lot to put up with. I just wanted to set the record straight. No doubt she will spin you all some tale about how it was me in the wrong, but you will know the truth, won’t you?