Tuesday, 29 January 2013


I wonder if someone can invent a 'mum-o-meter'. A bit like a pedometer but it would count how many times someone shouted 'MUUUUM!!' in one day. It doesn't matter where I am in the house, someone will shout it and expect me to go and attend to their every need. Sometimes they don't even really want me, they are just shouting it before 'someone else' does so that they can make sure the 'someone else' gets into trouble before they do.

Some days I find myself answering the call before I realise that I am, actually, behaving like a slave. How lovely it must be to have the ability to click your fingers and be waited upon, listened to, fanned and have grapes popped into your mouth one by one. Ok, I don't do the fanning and grapes bit. That was a small exaggeration. But the constant demand is wearing thin.

Take this evening, for example, whilst emptying the car of the myriad of boxes and baskets I use for my work. I entered the front door fully laden (too fully laden, but I didn't want to make another trip out in the rain to the car) and from the lounge I heard the call, "MUUUM!!".
"Yes" I replied.
"Will you bring me my school bag?"
"Eerm, no because my arms are rather full of other things."
I then walked, almost dropping everything I was carrying, through the lounge and stopped quickly to open another door. Unfortunately I happened to stop in front of the television. The worst place possible. Heads began to do the Egyptian dance as they tried to see the screen around me.
"Mum, can you move?"
This was petrol to my flame. Or tumble dryer fluff to my kindling (if you know my husband you will know why this makes sense).
"I'm not your slave!" I retorted (rather childishly, I'll admit, but it did feel good). "Why can't you think of anyone but yourselves!"

When my biggest boy was very little, I taught him to say "please beautiful mummy" every time he wanted something. Perhaps I'll reinstate this phrase. It's far more pleasing to the ear.

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