Once upon a time, Nicole didn't have kids. She lived in a normal sized house and give or take some dirty skirting boards, because seriously, who really gets down there, the house was clean and tidy. Mainly tidy. Nicole had a life.
Nicole, who wasn't a princess but nor was she an ugly sister, (altho her sisters would probably say she was a bit.) Nicole actually used a duster and a can of polish instead of polish wipes and other things such as a spray bottle of dettol and a damp cloth instead of flash wipes or in some cases, baby wipes! Nicole even had a cleaning day! An actual specific day to do a full clean.
Nicole also went on holiday twice a year, her car had excellent music playing from various genres, she took long baths and even ate out instead of cooking! Nicole went to the cinema more than once a week if the listings were particularly good and she often went to the supermarket and strolled round with a teenie tiny basket. Nicole wore skimpy clothes on nights out. Yes you heard right, Nicole had lots and lots of nights out, she had spare money for make up and clothes and wore silly heels, because she could.
Nicole often bathed by herself and she even used bubbles with lots of chemicals in them because her skin could hack it. She read novels before switching off the lamp and snuggling down the duvet and she could wear tampons without any asking what the fluffy stick was that she kept putting up her front bum.
Life was simple. Straight forward. Easy. All about Nicole.
Fast forward several years.....
Nicole's last holiday was supposed to be to New York, sans kids. She ended up at Disneyland Paris, very much with the kids.
The car stereo has never seen a decent cd, unless you count Justin Fletcher aka Mr Tumble singing nursery rhymes as decent. I don't. And I get irrational thoughts about wanting to hurt Mr Tumble. I don't think many parents would stop me.
Nicole has no spare money for Mac and life is no longer about Nicole at all, nor will it ever be again. And she also won't be having another holiday anytime soon. Not because of the financials- but because I can't imagine sitting on an aeroplane with 3 kids - a confined space, in the sky, with no Nickelodeon and the risk one of the 3 will kick off about something and it wouldn't be right to tell them if they didn't shut up I'd drag them off the plane and leave them there. And I'd be struggling for naughty steps. Unless said kick off occured at the actual boarding point.
It seems that wherever we go, there's mayhem.
Take my parents house. We pull up, we look inside. It's tidy. It's warm. It's neat. It's quiet. The tv isn't on.
We ring the doorbell. Ding dong.
Weirdly they answer (when mine have kids
and pop round I plan to hide at this point,
If I can still bend and get up again or I'd have to ring them to come round to lift me back up and they'd wonder why I was always found behind the sofa)
Anyway, RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHhHHhH
We're HERE!!!!!! It goes mad.
They go about dragging toys from the under stairs cupboard like a leaf ant collecting leaves, the tv gets switched to crap Disney channels, crumbs appear on the rug which must've fallen off their person because grandma hasn't even started on the crisp cupboard or the kitkats yet.
They can't just sit and play, they meddle and run around, make loud noises, fall out with one another fall back in with one another, trip over shit, raid the cupboards, baby suddenly decides its poo o'clock, boy decides his willy can't aim down the toilet and sprays the tiled bathroom whilst girl twists grandmas hand and manages to get fizzy pop, chocolate and a bag of sweets, all before dinnertime. It's plain mental.
I can't relax. I'm terrified they'll break something or mess something. I teeter on edge that they may say something like 'wanker' or 'Tosser' (might have accidentally heard those words in the car) it's pure chaos.
Then we leave. We sort of attempt a clean up operation but as ever Grandma says 'leave it and I'll sort it' - so we do.
In fact, I do a runner, leave the mess and run forest run.
Getting them all in the car is another chaotic chapter.
Boy decides he doesn't want to leave his grandma & grandad, so he goes long and rigid. Stretching out his small body so it doesn't bend in the middle.
Gone are the days I used to try and use gentle words to calm him. No time for that shit, I just karate chop him down the middle so he bends and wrestle those arms into the car seat straps. He's in- result. 2 to go.
8 year old is busy trying to fill her boots with yet more chocolate and biscuits before we get home and smuggles it into her uggs, coat pockets, basically anywhere. You can't tell girl once to do something, you have to tell her 37 million times before its registers and she does it. In fact you have to tell her 37 million times, then threaten her with the iPad confiscation before it sinks in.
She's in - result. 1 to go.
The baby suddenly realises how tired she is and screams as loud as she can, going all blotchy in the process and then starts choking on her own spit of which she's generated plenty of with the screaming fit. But still, if she's noisy, she's fine. Child 3 is in the car- result. We're off.
Finally, we wave goodbye and off we go. And the chaos begins again and we dump the masses of baby and child paraphernalia in the hallway, attempt to get everyone into their pjs and the tidy up this house..
In fact, the chaos never ever ends.
The supermarket- chaos.
The dental check ups- chaos.
The school run- chaos.
Nipping anywhere- chaos.
Visiting people- chaos.
Even chaos is chaos.
Someone pass me the gin....
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