Mum Walk of Shame

Well my week started with what can only describe as a Monday morning Mum walk of shame!!

Similar to those early morning walks home after a night of too much singing, dancing, alcohol and fun before passing out at a friends flat. All fun and games until the next morning when you stress yourself out as you realise you have to make your way home. That’s sinking feeling in your tummy as the realisation dawns that whilst you know you crashed on your friends couch the rest of the world just sees a dirty stop out and the walk of shame! So you keep your head lowered the whole way in the hope you aren’t recognised even though you know you are the mornings gossip.

Not that much has changed really, in that this Mum still spends her evenings singing, dancing, having fun and playing games all in the name of entertaining 3 kids and preventing them from killing each other during the witching hour! Granted no alcohol is required to pass out; sheer exhaustion has that covered and as any Mum will attest to if there is anything worse than bickering children it’s refereeing squabbling kids with a hangover!

Still sleep deprived to the point where I wouldn’t think twice of passing out on that grotty couch just for those precious extra 40 winks. Still stressed; successfully negotiating a breakfast peace treaty over which cereal belongs to which child and the daily who is having what coloured bowl, all before even having a sip of coffee will do that to you.

Same girl. Tiny difference being I’m pretty sure I spent my Sunday night tucked up in bed watching Love Island with a cuppa thinking awwwh that Tommy is lovely, doesn’t he have the nicest eyes and smile. Hmmm…am I too old to find him attractive?! Trusty google broke the news I was fearing he was born in 1999 and I’m definitely too old!!

Anyway, this Mum walk of shame also comes with self inflicted pain: the agony being not that of an alcohol induced hangover and flash backs of your bestie holding your hair back. No, those days are passed. Instead, you are treated to flash backs of your desperate for the toilet but half asleep child’s antics from the night before; questioning did I dream having to hold their boy bits in the direction of the toilet?! All of course whilst trying to navigate the 3 children you somehow managed to birth yet can not for the life of you now manage to get out of a much bigger front door and to school on time. Some would argue the hangover to be preferable!

It’s fair to say Noah’s not a Monday morning fan (he’s his mother’s son) in fact, I’m used to every tactic under the sun to try and prevent school on a Monday. I’ve learnt not to enter in to negotiations with my strong willed son, no point arguing; he doesn’t back down. However, I do secretly love listening to what his wee brain has been plotting when he inevitably reveals his latest excuse as to why he can’t possibly go.

Back to Monday morning; we leave with plenty time, so much so that that I even had time to run back and grab Noah a Calpol lozenge for his sudden sore head, feeling suitably smug that I had dodged that bullet, braying and subsequent long walk to school listening to “do you want my head to hurt me all day?” Escalated to “that’s fine, you want me to die” to “so you don’t love me then.”

Locking up for the second time, we get further along the road only for Noah to shout that he’s forgot to pack his homework. The same homework I left signed at his place at the table. “Oh well, you will just have to tell your teacher you forgot it, I’m not going back again” Enraged, he bellowed that he would tell her that i didn’t give him it! Nice try little one but the audacity of him makes me more determined we aren’t going back again. I’m also pretty certain his teacher already pities him having me for a Mother, what’s one more fail.

He finishes his lozenge before erupting that he’s also left his water bottle. Crying that he now has a sore throat too and that’s it he can’t possibly go to school without water all day “do you want me to lose my voice and never be able to speak again?” I stupidly (ever so stupidly) replied that maybe he could share his sore throat with his brother and sister as a few mornings peace would be nice. Well that was it, he played his best card yet “so you don’t like me telling you I love you? You never want to hear me say that again? So you don’t love me?” I did what any Mum losing control would do and sprinted back down the road for his bottle.

Back at the house, homework now in hand, I look at the clock and see we have 5 minutes; we are never making it. I’m resigned to being late. I hunt for his bottle slightly perplexed and questioning my own sanity; opening his school bag at this point just to pop his homework in (before I forget) only to see the missing bottle positioned at the bottom of his bag. It was there the whole time. He swears ever so innocently that he doesn’t know how it got there and I once again try not to self combust.

Realising he’s still having to go to school but will now definitely be arriving late suddenly Noah has an urgency to get there. We are already late I’m not rushing as regardless of whether we arrive one minute late puffy, sweaty and having ran all the way or whether I walk and arrive 5 minutes late we will be marked as late. No point making this Mum walk of shame any more of a spectacle.

Head lowered, tick

Dishevelled appearance, tick.

Disapproving glances, tick.

Now passing all the Mumsier Mums exiting the school, on their way home; internally debating why their children clearly like them better than mine do me. They make this mum business look like a walk in the park. Whilst motherhood for me is like a walk through Jurassic Park!

Eden brings me out of my soul searching suddenly asking what reason she should give for being late. Always a believer in honesty I say just tell the truth. We weren’t late, we left with plenty time. Your brother’s a wee poo who doesn’t like Monday’s and was dying of a sore head or throat; which ever one he remembers first. Erring on the side of caution and knowing how much they would miss both his creativity and company at school we nipped back to get medicine to save him. So much does your brother not want to come to school, we had to return home for a second time for his water bottle; which he conveniently forgot was already in his bag. We did this at the risk of never hearing an I love you ever again.

Poor Eden was adamant she couldn’t call him a poo; and no one other than me would believe he was really dying!

Noah, having clearly realised he would need an excuse and that the truth wasn’t going to work in his favour (with no shame at all) shouts “well I won’t be saying that: If my teacher asks me why I’m late, I’m telling her it was because Mummy was putting on her make up!”

Eden ponders this then replies “yeah that’ll work!”