Bad Parenting

Helloo everybody!

The theme of the week is bad parenting.  I've been doing a lot of it lately as a consequence of having to do more of it.  Viz.  The nanny we hired disappeared after 4 days.  No call.  No text.  Nothing.  She could have been dead.  It turns out she wasn't, but she failed to tell us that for approximately 3 weeks.

So, Harried Mum had to take over primary parenting duties.  I am a good corporate counsel.  I am a harried mother.

Let me give you a representative sample of the last 3 weeks.

1st Act:  Breakfast and drop off at nursery (Trouble) and camp (Lunatic Child).

Trouble is currently potty training.  So the conversation consists of this:

Mum:  Trouble, do you need the toilet?

Trouble:  Naaoooooo.

Mum:  Lunatic Child, eat your toast.

Mum:  Lunatic Child, stop poking Trouble.

Mum:  Trouble, don't throw that at your brother.

Mum:  Trouble, do you need the toilet?

Trouble:  Naooooo pee.

Meanwhile, I am making lunch for Lunatic Child and packing one million spare pairs of pants/socks etc. for Trouble while he's potty training and a bathing suit, water bottle, raincoat, sunscreen, jumper and hat for Lunatic Child, because who the hell knows what the British weather is going to do in the next 10 minutes.

Mum:  Trouble and Lunatic Child, eat your toast.

Lunatic Child:  What happens when you die?  What if there is a poop flood?  If a baby comes out a mum's tummy, won't there be a big hole and how do they fix it?  Why are there cars in the world?

While I am wrestling with these metaphysical chestnuts, Trouble quietly creeps under the table and pees in his shorts, necessitating a full change of clothing.

I change Trouble, and during this process, Lunatic Child becomes possessed of a fierce desire to wear Trouble's clothes.  This necessitates 10 minutes of explaining why we shouldn't wear underwear 3 sizes too small and t shirts that expose our navel.  Lunatic Child is upset and sulky and tells me that I always say no to everything and I am no fun.

I am not fun.  I am not having fun.

We all get in the car.  We drop off Trouble at nursery.  I drop off Lunatic Child at camp.

2nd Act.  Work!

All is peaceful in the house for 6 hours whilst I attempt to do my day job and interview nannies.  I interview a million nannies, as obviously I failed to do my due diligence last time.  She seemed nice? Her references checked out?  What the hell?

3rd Act.  Pick up, dinner and bath time.

At pick up, there is a satanic ice cream truck parked outside Lunatic Child's camp, leading to daily wailing over the fact that I will not always buy them ice cream.  I am a cruel, cruel mistress.

At dinner, repeat the breakfast conversation verbatim replacing toast with dinner and inserting some more random questions.  How many German shepherds are there in the world?  Where is France?  Sometimes, I manage to catch Trouble and he pees on the potty.  Everyone gets a treat.  Even Harried Mum!!

Bath time involves everyone pretending to be good doggies in order to encourage cooperation with washing hair.  (We're grooming the dogs!)

Eventually, everyone is dressed in pajamas, and we all watch some sweet, sweet TV until Fun Daddy gets home.

While I may not be doing this with élan or sang froid, we have managed to muddle through.

The new, new nanny has now started, so things should be returning to what constitutes normal in our house shortly.  At least until we move and get a puppy.

Peace out.

R