Not a Perfect Parent: the One Where Mums Lose the Plot

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.

35 thoughts on “Not a Perfect Parent: the One Where Mums Lose the Plot”

  1. My children could’ve wrote this!! And the little notes are great, just the thing to add to all the mummy guilt we already feel. Lol.
    Nat

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  2. Don’t they just tug at the heart strings? Children learning to write is a double-edged sword! I have a friend whose son practices his computer skills when he is annoyed with her. He then prints it out and it gets re-used in the printer; she had the misfortune to print off his school letter to Santa on one such hate-mail – ‘i hat mummy shi shud sa sori udrwse dady wil hat hr to’ is probably not what you want to send to Santa!

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    • Works better than sellotape in the handwritten version I was doing before I discovered blogging. And should last longer too (as long as I don’t one day manage to delete the whole thing!).

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    • Thanks Crystal Jigsaw – I must make that my mantra! BTW how do you get a wordpress avatar? I’ve tried so hard to find a way – is it a plugin?

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    • Hi MMM sorry not to reply sooner – you got spammed and I only just found you! Love your blog (just subscribed). Also just found the Save the Children Meme – pressure is on to do something about that!

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  3. Fab post, made me smile lots. I am so glad that my little ones do not leave me notes – yet!

    Mich x

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  4. I think your Mummy sounds pretty darn brilliant. Apology chocolate?! There’s non of that going in our house!

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  5. Bless her heart.

    I know the feeling your mummy has, but I have also been you, with my nose stuck in a book, and not paying any attention to the world around me until I *absolutely* have to.

    You carry on poppet! Reading is forever, tapdancing is temporary!

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  6. How lovely. Love dont come free; Keep reminding myself that a parent has to earn their child’s love – then one day Little A might write I forgive you notes as well.

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  7. This was a fab post. Nice to read some of your old ones, before my time.

    I think I might start calling you silly old blogger. Especially if it means you buy me apology chocolate!

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  8. I loved this post, all sounds very familar im glad im not the only one who makes up silly words to songs and gives sorry chocolate for my mood swings!. The grandma in the garden priceless and the leaving the door open all day yep i have done that too.
    love your blog xx

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  9. Oh dear, you really know how to push Mummy’s buttons, don’t you? Ah well, at least we know you and the Bug are normal. You do realise though, that Mummy linked this up to our #FailFriday, which isn’t a good thing. That means one of you has had a moment – now, if Mummy is really perfect, then you need to take a good hard look at yourself. Now, let that be a warning, young lady!

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  10. “I am happy with her imperfections. It oils the wheels of family life.” What a brilliant quote!!! I think I need to live by this one! 🙂

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  11. Oh, I do lose the plot all the time, and my little man calls me silly mama occasionally. 🙂 LOl @ the poor grandma locked in the garden.

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  12. Have you been taking lessons from my daughter GG?! She writes notes to me ALL the time…great scheme cos us mums can’t resist a little bit of love on a piece of note paper that we can keep for ever and ever!

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    • I have a box load Suzanne. One day I’m going to clear out my loft and give them all to her. I’m sure she’ll thank me 😉

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  13. So funny! After nearly three years of being a parent, I’m very pleased to announce that I have now perfected ‘the look’. With one glance, I can communicate to my toddler that he should ‘put that down, right now’ without uttering a single word. It’s brilliant. I feel that I’ve finally arrived.

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