My Mummy is perfect. Most of the time. At least, I think she is. Which is why, when she’s cross with me – and after my frustration at the injustice of it all has dissipated – I write her little notes to say sorry. It works like magic. I get a hug, she says she’s sorry too, and if I really lay it on her I may even get some apology chocolate.
Seriously, Mummy is a moody mare at times. She once (in a good mood) called herself ‘silly old Mummy’. She laughed when we agreed. I tried it again, to lighten the mood, one morning at about 8.30 when we were late for school and she had forgotten my water bottle. You can imagine how that went. Now when the Bug tries something similar I flash warning eyes at him; you just can’t always tell where you stand with Mummy.
Mostly Mummy is lovely. She puts up with squabbling, mess, acting-up, Daddy’s mess, with only a small (if regular) amount of nagging. But to be the perfect parent, she would have to do that without any obvious signs of frustration. And Mummy certainly lets us know about her frustration. Usually when something is forgotten, and we blame her. ‘I have to remember everything for 3 and a half people! You, the Bug, Me, and half of Daddy! Is it any wonder I occasionally forget things?’ is her rant.
She is not alone. My friend’s Mummy, S, went out to work recently and left her front door wide open for the whole day. The following week she remembered to lock the front and back doors, but forgot that her Mum was in the garden. She then refused to answer the phone to her Dad because she was at work. My friend’s Grandma was stuck in the garden on her own all day. No parent is perfect.
The other day we left home for my tap class as usual. I, as usual, had my nose in a book, which I refused to put down as I ambled out to the car. Needless to say we arrived at my tap class minus my tap shoes. As the realisation dawned on Mummy, the lady heading for the car next to ours looked terrified, and I’m sure she was on the verge of calling social services, such was the intensity of Mummy’s outburst. At times like this I keep my head down and look forward to the apology chocolate.
On the plus side, no-one is better at reading stories, cooking macaroni cheese, creating puddings and making up ridiculous song lyrics. And for me that makes her the perfect parent. As long as Mummy knows that she is not perfect, I am happy with her imperfections. It oils the wheels of family life. I know that it is ok to get stuff wrong sometimes, because Mummy is happy to admit that she gets it wrong too.