This is what happens in the Tate Modern… (ahem)
I’d like to say that the school holidays have commenced with much Enid Blyton style gusto and adventures. In truth I have sought sanctuary in going to work and doing the housework. Today is a rare day off and I sit trying to concentrate enough to read Judy Blume’s latest book. Around me the children have decided to change their appearance; one has pillar box red hair, the other blue, purple and pink stripes (thanks Pixie Lott) its like living in an all action comic book movie. Except with punch-ups over multigrain shapes and macaroni.
Fortunately the youngest has no interest in appearance and instead busy’s himself waking at the crack of dawn to watch The Big Bang Theory. This is a programme rated 11 years over his age much of which appears to go over the top of his head, apart from Sheldon’s stuff which he finds immensely amusing as its like watching his big brother on TV.
I don’t approve of any of these activities. I’d like my children to look like little angelic Lucy Mabel Attwell characters wearing vintage style clothing and the four year old to be playing with wooden toys. However, after nine years I am a broken woman and all I’d like to be able to do is read a book (notice i’m writing this unable to concentrate to read my book).
Parenting is not at all like how I imagined it to be. I’ve spent a lot of time pondering this. In a way i’m quite proud that I have managed to sire fairly independent children if they are somewhat eccentric, on the other hand I dream that we are one of those Instagram families or the parents you see having delightful picnics in park whilst their children gamble about. Our picnics always descend into a shouting match ‘watch out for dog poo… I HATE the outdoors…I don’t like jam sandwiches… well you shouldn’t have kicked the football into the lake if you wanted it…’
Are there parents out there that aren’t conned into spending hundreds of pounds in comic shops and bookshops for things that wont be read? Parents who can go out without fear of being fleeced for the sake of peace? Parents who can go to the beach without complaints about sand?
The biggest question of all remains; how do some parents sustain their picture perfect homes with cream carpet and cream sofas? I can only imagine that they go out, to places like the Tate Modern where their children gaze at artworks rather than actively engage with them (see photo).
Don’t get me wrong, I love the school summer holidays! Not least because I don’t have to deal with school mothers which are a special breed in our town perfectly capable of causing entire families to move towns. We are on early days here, i’m determined to finish this book this holiday (mustn’t set targets too high)- I wonder if I can hide in the loo?
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