Why aren’t they thankful? (men and kids and grateful and it is Not What You Think)

My kids have been poorly this week. Manboy had had a Mancold and a Manflu. I am Healthy. Of course. Someone has to be. My question is this; Do you feel looked after, cared for, burdens lifted when you are sick?

I have spent the last week looking after my kids and my man and none of them failed to under appreciate me. I am totally OK with this. Mostly. It is my joy to look after my family selflessly. I have been pooped on, puked on, tread on, slept on, weed on and had noses wiped on me. I  have thrown out 300kg of snotty tissue. I have made 50+ lemsips.  I have made honey and lemon tea, I have…lets just say I have Done All of The Mum Things. You all know what I mean.

I have, and continue to be, devoted to my selfless service.

I think, here, that we have the problem.

It is not selfless.

I am not a nun, a saint or a martyr. I am just a girl. A woman, A mum.

I want, no, need to feel that what i have suffered is appreciated. Not even that, I would be happy with acknowledged. 

Who feels me?

If I have brought you 300 drinks/tissues/lozenges/change of clothes…

did you notice?

I got one answer today. My oldest sniffed..’you are the best mum ever. smiff wuz you, smiff’

Does you husband notice when you look after him special? Probably not.

But in my case, I think it is only fair. He looks after me. OH NO I am not saying that he looks after me like a mum or a friend would while sick, no. But he looks after me in a husband way. He is strong when I am weak, he cheers me when I am sad, he backs me up when I am socially confused. He carries me when I am drunk, he feeds me when I am hungry. He is a father when I am tired of being a mother.

And I think I will get another Lemsip for him. After all, it will be wine o’clock soon.

Keep it real mums and dads.

What’s more real, the tooth fairy or any of our other constructs? (one of my Will Offend Everyone posts)

My youngest, the White Rose, is into faeries. She is really into tooth faeries. She has a special, personal tooth fairy; Bridgette  The farie/fairy writes her letters and leaves gifts for her and she so needs to believe that there is something out there looking after her. I think this is totally fine.

My oldest is a Christian because her grandmother is, her school is Church of England and because I don’t mind, and find ancient religious studies interesting. Also, she finds her belief comforting. I am so happy about this.

My attitude is: Believe in something. I don’t mind. Find spiritual comfort. It is all the same in the end. Let’s just get on and share the similarities of our belief and be happy!

BUT I did something utterly horrible or totally awesome to my kids to do with these beliefs. .

If you only have one child, please have a think before you judge. Unless you had siblings  and then go for it!

My oldest, said to the youngest: “your faries are stupid and not real!  God! You are such a massive Dork! Phhhht!”

I usually let this stuff go. They can handle themselves. But this time I snapped “OH? Oh your x-ian god up in ‘heaven’ who made a zombie jeaszus to save us all is more believable  PHHHHTTTT. “

now, this was wrong. But I am so tired of one belief being ‘better’ even in my own household.

Heck, I even believe in made-up ancient gods and wear a Thor’s Hammer around my neck. But I do not take myself so seriously that I would make light of someone’s spirituality.

Except I did. Ooops. I hope it was taken in the spirit of ‘live and let live, yo!’. I hope that the lesson that was learned.

My ‘experience’ with a posh Brit. (subtitled; Giraffe and pots and pans. sigh.)

So the other day I wanted to open a bank account. In England. With my own money. But I ran up against a super posh banker. I love the posh Brits. They have names like ‘Charles Winston-On-Sea’ and William Baker-Marlborough the Third’ and such like.

Hilarious.

. The best thing about super-posh Brits it that you can never rattle them. No matter what you do or say, they will keep their composure.   And I mean that. 

So I went to the bank and I was advised to bring some sort of utility bill. Now, since i never pay my bills and I just throw them out when the come because I have No Money, I only had one recent utility bill. It was a gas bill for something like 500 pounds. I had written on it. I wrote; ‘ bill is 500 pounds, have cut off gas, must pay by key. Forever’ or something like that.

I asked Manboy; ‘can I bring this bill? I haz written stuffz on it?’ He said it was fine. What I did not do was look at the other side. The other side that I had doodled on while being on hold. Yeah.

So William Winston Percy-Franklin III has my paperwork . He looks at my *not noticed* doodle and says:

“I can’t help but notice that you seem to have drawn a giraffe. ”

” cant help but notice”…BWAHAHAhahaha. I am unable to deal. I am on the floor, sir. I am unable to have any kind of seat. Manboy tries to touch my shoulder in a misguided attempt to restrain me. This is a mistake.