So Dad has been travelling with work this week and the kids can’t wait to have him home, because quite frankly this week, they are going through that phase where, they hate me.
It’s a standard rite of passage and quite frankly; water and duck’s back!
The thing I find about raising confident children, is that they don’t have any issues telling you why they hate you either.
In fact they’re pretty upfront about it all which is rather entertaining, as long as you have thick skin.
‘You’re mean!’ said my six year old when I told him for the fourth time that he couldn’t buy a giant-sized gobstopper.
‘Guess what?’ I responded. ‘I can be even meaner!’
‘You are not my friend!’ said my middle child, when I told her she could not go outside and play at 20.00pm in the pitch darkness.
‘Nope!’ I said rather nonchalantly. ‘I’m your mother!’
They tell me how excited they are that Dad is coming home, because he doesn’t yell at them to ‘Get in the car!’, he doesn’t scream ‘Stop playing Lego and do your homework NOW!’ or ‘For God’s sake how many times do I have to tell you to put on your coat!’
So this week I am the worst parent ever. I have to laugh as I cut the crusts off my eldest lunch, clean the muck of my youngest boots, spend twenty minutes searching frantically for the other’s Show and Tell toy, only for him to forget it when we reach the school gates and having to sprint back home to retrieve it, panting like a lunatic.
The next time it’ll be Dad they hate and I’ll be honest, it’ll be nice to have the break…