The evils of corprate giants

Recently, a new ad campaign has started up for a certain multi national fast food company which has a catchy little tune , singing about the virtues of bacon. I think that the person who is a songwriter for the Wiggles wrote it, because my 2 year old LOVES it and has taken to singing it at 4am, interspersed with snatches of "twinkle, twinkle little star" and renditions of some kind of made up song. As much as I love my kids, I am having trouble remaining a calm, patient mummy when standing in his doorway at 5am politely asking him to shut up. It is also leading to very ugly scenes at my workplace by 10am, when the strongest coffee in the world is not help and I need to making rational decisions (not my strongest point when I've had 10 hours sleep) about serious work issues. Have also discovered that a keyboard really hurts your face when you fall asleep at your desk.

The evil of fuzzy felt

Last week was kind of interesting. My youngest, William, had an absolute ripper. It was one of those weeks where you realise that your alcohol dependence is just something you should gratefully accept rather than fight against and thank the lord that some kind soul thought of McDonalds, because you are tired of having your carefully created, nutritionally balanced meals hurled across the kitchen by your three little angels who are hell bent on developing scurvy, rickets and all other types of diseases that come from malnutrition. I once had a doctor tell me that a child will not deliberately starve themselves to death. He did not mention the fact that they will happily live off two minute noodles for 7 years, by which time you have developed nervous tic every time you enter the kitchen to prepare dinner. To all those out there who declare that they have no trouble with fussy eaters and "you just need to make children realise that they will get nothing else until they eat what is put in front of them" I say GET STUFFED!!!! We had a week of Will deciding that he wanted nothing but strawberries and sultanas (resulting in the world falling out of his bottom) and my other son deciding he could not eat anything if the different food groups were touching (resulting in me wanting to shove something sharp up him). God give me strength. Will then had a little accident at creche, which resulted in him getting 3 stitches in his head. Apparently it was someone's birthday at creche and there was cake for afternoon tea. Will was so excited by this prospect that he ran towards the bathroom to wash his hands, missed the door and smacked straight into the wall. I can totally sympathise with him - I get pretty excited about cake for afternoon tea too. So, off to the doctor and after a fun hour of holding him (Will, not the doctor) down, we left with a much heavier credit card debit and a son that looked as though he had been running with knives. He looks quite rakish with the stitches over one eye and I am sure milked it for all it was worth when he went back to creche on Friday. I refer to his Fridays at creche as his "harem day", as he is the only boy in the toddler room and seems to enjoy the day with "his ladies".

The weekend was ok but by Sunday everyone was a little tired and grumpy (the weather was pretty crap). Will secreted himself in our walk in wardrobe, playing with a 150 piece fuzzy felt farm, which was fine until I told him to pack it up. A fair bit of discussion ensued, which escalated to shouting and culminated in Will chucking an absolute mental and throwing the fuzzy felt in a temper tantrum around my wardrobe. The result looked a lot like someone had fed a bolt of felt through a garden mulcher in a confined space ie. my wardrobe. Will then buggered off somewhere and I spent the next hour de-felting my cupboard. Did you know that felt sticks incredibly well to all types of fabric and fuzzy felt farms come with teeny, tiny, drive you farking mad trying to find them pieces? This week at work I discovered a felt chicken perched happily on my black jacket - really adds to your image as a professional working mother, I think. The only thing that tops it is when you trail into work, blissfully unaware that you have sick down your back or in your hair. Anyway, fuzzy felt was eventually cleared up, I self medicated with brandy and was finally convinced my "child for sale" ad from ebay late in the evening.

Anyway, Will seems fine, no-one has told me they want to go vegan (yet) and I have decided that I may just let the little buggers cook for themselves - I just need to check to see if it is covered by our insurance. Fully expect to hear the smoke alarm go off when they discover that you CAN'T put plastic fruit in the toaster. Yum.

Pepsi max extreme parenting

I have a new extreme sport for anyone who is tired of base jumping, black water rafting or bungee jumping. It's called "take your children shopping". Not for the faint hearted and make sure you have a good pack with you, filled with survival gear. Also make sure the wills of all of those involved are up to date, as by the end of the day there is an excellent chance some may not be coming out alive. One of my private theories about why children behave the way they do is that it is to ensure parents age rapidly so they can get their hands on your money whilst still young enough to have fun with it. Take this past weekend as a little example.

We went out to the local farmer's market on Saturday, where the kids had a lovely time, running around and looking at all of the fresh fruit and veg etc. It was one of those great family days where you are happy to be a parent, you can grab a nice coffee and feel that you are, in your own little way, getting back in touch with nature etc. Don't laugh - there is an aging hippy inside all of us. On Sunday we had an expedition to one of the local shopping malls as I am in dire need of new clothes. I am happy to announce that I have dropped 3-4 dress sizes - the down side of this is literally that. Everything is now looking suspiciously like a tent I have nicked form the local army depot or I am spending a lot of time hitching my baggy pants up. Sexy. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the clothes shops we go...

Now, I have developed a dislike of shopping for clothes, as for the last ten years every time I tried something on I felt as though I looked like a hippo with a bow tied round it. Still have the odd hippo moment but they are getting a little less extreme. Throw 3 children into the mix who don't really want to be there and shopping for clothes starts to make the Olympic decathlon look like the easy option. Gone were the happy little cherubs of Saturday. In their place I had the tantrum pants brigade (aged 9, 6 and 2.5) who, it seemed, were hell bent on driving Tim (my husband) and I completely bonkers by 10.30am. First shop, I found a few nice shirts, in between refereeing fights between the kids and telling them to stop playing hide and seek in the clothes racks. I had the audacity to want to try these clothes on, which resulted in me receiving a lot of "help" and the ensuing riot in the change room meant that I it took me more time to try on 4 shirts than it takes for me to drive through peak hour traffic to work in the mornings. Tim was trying his best, but the officious 16 year old on the desk would not let him come in to the women's change room. I get the very distinct feeling that the other ladies suffering through the whole experience with me would have been happy for Tim to have seen them completely naked if it meant they did not have to listen to my kids giving a convincing impression of wildebeest stampeding across the plains. We made our purchases and left the store, calling time out for a quick snack and a drink (water for the kids, brandy for Tim and I) and on we went.

Let's just say things didn't really improve all that much and by the time we hit the last shop (we only went to 3) my youngest was screaming like a banshee and my middle child was so off his head that people were looking at him as though he was "special". I knew it was well and truly time to pull the pin when the long suffering sales assistant assured me that if I didn't want to try things on, that "was absolutely fine. You can just return them if they don't fit". Translation "please leave as you are scaring the normal people". In the end, I got some nice new clothes and I know that my blood pressure mediation is working well. Next time I think I'll just take a rhino with me - much less trouble and much quieter.

just a quick note - to those of you who feel that you need to recommend books/lectures/videos to me on how to be a better parent and to effectively discipline my children, don't bother. Have read/attended/seen my fair share. My kids just were not in the mood to be human last weekend. We all have days like that. Kids are just much more open about expressing it. Adults cover it up with grumpy looks, stomping through the office and smacking the photocopier. Much more mature.