Keepin it Real

So there are a few reasons why I felt the need to write this post. I just hope that once I have explained them all, it will make sense. Its half way through half term and I’m feeling like the worst mum ever as well as a terrible daughter. I’m seriously suffering from mum guilt and just generally feeling pretty low.

I have just been doing my 10th Instagram scroll of the day where I came across @bad_mum_ who posted about all the bollocks on Instagram and how so many people post what they think you want to see. How the picture it paints isn’t real and just shows you what they think you want to see. It made me analyse my own feed…… 

Now I’m not going to post the negative stuff, like a video of me bollocking my 7 year old or hiding in the shoe cupboard to look at my phone or crouching down in front of the fridge so I can shove in slices of ham without the boys seeing or falling asleep while feeding my baby. But the positives I do post are totally real. And the positives massively outweigh the negatives. Who wants to see the shit bit? 

When I was looking for pictures to go with this post, I struggled, as I haven’t recorded the difficult times. Well some of them, I have and its actually quite emotional looking at them again.

I’m not lying when I say that 90 percent of the time, its pretty good in my house with my 3 boys, well maybe that’s ambitious, maybe 85 is keeping it real. So I photograph and record that 85 percent. I genuinely love hanging around with them and they are funny, kind and loving. Now I haven’t posted too much in the last few days as it has definitely been the other 15 percent. Mumming for me the last 3 days has been bloody awful but probably not in the way you think. Its halfway through half term and I feel like a wrung out rag. 

Everyone around me is so relieved that its half term, to be honest I dread it, yes we don’t have the daily drama of getting everyone out of the house but I literally don’t get a even a moment to myself. A moment to gather my thoughts or stick myself together. We laugh about us mums not being to wee on our own. But we don’t. Let alone a poo. My husband has never had a poo where he hasn’t been alone. All I ask is a lone shower each day and the occasional toilet visit.

Most half terms we spend a couple of days with my parents at their house.  Its my childhood home, its probably 3 times the size of my terraced cottage and it has the garden of childhood dreams. You would imagine that the kids have all this amazing freedom and its peaceful and I get a lovely break. WRONG. In old age my parents have really grown to dislike each other. They coexist but its a competition to see who can catch each other out the most on anything. This then equals any visitor worrying about sitting on the wrong part of the sofa, let a lone drinking from the wrong glass or turning the door handle weirdly. They cant help but extend this behaviour to anyone. It turns me into Kevin the teenager. Please don’t get me wrong, my mum is amazing, shes a brilliant nanny and totally loves having us there.

Combine that with a 7 year old who is on the cusp of an ASBO on occasion. Also an elderly terrier with very lose bowels and a seriously smelly wind problem – the smell of shit was imprinted on my nostrils for at least a week after. There you go, a heady mix of total torture for mummy. Not only am I on boy watch 24/7 trying to ensure they don’t get bollocked for breathing, I’m apparently getting some rest while answering 10 questions a minute on what everyone is going to eat. 

My boys are really outdoorsy, they love sport and running around. So when we are there, they love the huge garden. it has a goal and everything. They are only allowed sponge balls though, normal balls might damage the air or something.  I’m not so sure they love the huge garden with pops glaring at them from the window waiting for them to break his grass. This delightful combination equals some really special tension that the 7 year old totally picks up on and becomes a character from ‘straight outta compton’ just to make sure I’m having a really good time. To say I end up as ‘a rock in a hard place’ is a total understatement. My natural reaction is to turn into Kevin the teenager. I literally cant help it. Then I just feel totally bad on my amazing mum who is so happy to have us there and trying her hardest in a really tricky situation. So I feel cross with the boys for not being perfect. I actually don’t want them to be perfect normally. I feel the need to explain myself on absolutely everything and to say I feel guilty about everything is an understatement. I feel like I’m being a bad daughter by being so tetchy and a bad mum for expecting so much of my kids and being cross with them about stupid stuff.

It would be a totally different experience if the kids were just quiet and well behaved, they aren’t. But as I said I don’t want them to be. Life is black and white and all shades of grey and that’s how they should be. That’s how they are going to grow up and be good human beings. My parents are those kind of grandparents where they want to sit on the sofa have a nice cup of tea and a chat while the children play nicely and quietly on the floor around your feet. Certainly no screens, no tv, no wriggling, jumping or running inside. Let alone rolling in dog poo or writing abusive messages on their etcha-sketch (yes, that actually happened)

So hopefully I’m keeping it real by telling you about this, I’m not expecting anyone to feel sorry for me either. I’m trying to highlight the parts of mumming that I find particularly difficult. Obviously there have been many times where its been tough and ive cried or shouted and F bombed but the last few days were some of the hardest for a while.

Mumming for me is so much easier in my own house, with my rules. I’m sure this is true for everyone. It just makes me feel really sad. Its my family home where I grew up very happily, but its not my boy’s family home and its unfair of me to have different expectations of them to home. Its also not fair to expect my parents to change their ways. But perhaps if they were a bit nicer to each other then I would be a bit more relaxed and the 7 year old wouldn’t be trying to make me lose my shit 24/7 and my parents would like him a bit more.

Oh and sleep. I shared my bed with a very noisy snoring 4 year old. So barely slept which doesn’t help anyone!

Written by Lucy from @lucyand4boys