I often/always amazed at what I have to say in my house.
What I have to scream across the room/passage/table at my children.
I know there is the old saying about the fact that sooner or later, you realise you are your mother, because there you are yelling and you think to yourself – I swore I would never say that when I had kids.
But there you go. Breaking all the rules. Realising how desperate your mother was. Forgiving her for having a total shit fit when you were a kid. Because now you are standing there having the same shit fit. The wheel he turns.
Last night I was trying to cram in a few more minutes works, and the kids were watching tv/throwing the box of pencils on the floor/fighting with each other about who was going to sit on which couch — the usual state of the nation in my home. It was escalating, and I am like a magnet.
Georgia showing me bizarre pieces of paper/art, and Isabelle unpacking my desk, and trying to get the glitter back on the glitter tube. I just needed to finish an email, so I could log off and call this day finished.
I was forced to say: “Isabelle, get my giraffe off your head!” Which was only surpassed by: Leave the toilet brush alone … no …. it is not a toy. Put. It. Back. Now!”
Really not something I thought I would ever need to say.