The School’s Calling

It’s a phonecall you hate getting, next to Unknown number, seeing the school’s number on your phone screen is terror inducing. All sorts goes through your mind. What’s happened? Who’s hurt? What have they done?

I’ve had various phonecalls in my time and inspired by a conversation with an old friend (who sadly I don’t get to see anymore, life gets in the way) I thought I’d share some of them.

Gone Bananas

There was the time the school called to tell me my eldest had had a slip and fallen on his face. Thinking he’d tripped over someones foot or something – I once broke my wrist when someone stuck their foot out in front of me, you can read about it here – I made my way to the school only to find he’d slipped on a banana skin. I shit you not. I thought this particular mishap was reserved for cartoons and comedians. Apparently not.

Holey Crap

“Could you come to the school please? Your son has a puncture wound” A puncture wound? A PUNCTURE WOUND? “Oh Jesus Christ he’s been stabbed” I screech to the other half. “Right that’s it, I’m going to get him and I’m never, ever letting him go to school again.”

I get to the school where I’m greeted by a stoney faced 6 foot 20 Headmaster. I’m only 5’2 so I already felt like a naughty kid caught professing their love for some scroat or other by permie marker in the bogs. “Where’s my son?” I start to ask before he sits me down to tell me that in fact he hasn’t been stabbed but the dozy sod had actually been climbing trees to retrieve a football and fallen on a metal fence. Cringe. Then he leads me to a very quiet teenager who appears to have taken great interest in his trainers. Out we traipse not saying a word other than to thank the Headmaster for letting me know.  Off to the hospital we drive for a 48245 hour wait in A&E where they ask a million questions – quite rightly – and send him off with a dressing on and a dressing down.

Harry Flopper

“Could you come to nursery please? Your son has had a fall and has a head injury.” There I was with a 3 month old baby clamped to my chest wondering what on earth had happened. I sent the other half to go and get him as I knew he could run faster than my podgy arse could. My son came back with a bandage on his head and an ice pack. I don’t know what I was expecting from a ‘head injury’ but it was worse than I thought. My poor little man had a flipping great big split in his forehead and blood running down his face. Off we drove the hospital where he had glue and steri – strips to stick it all back together. We tried to make light of it being his Harry Potter scar but it’s not so much lightening bolt as big fat rain cloud. When we asked him how he’d done it he told us he was trying a show a girl how fast he could run, couldn’t stop himself in time and ran headfirst into a brick wall. So basically showing off for the ladies, sign of things to come?! Bloody great.

Oh Nuts

“Could you come to the school please? Your son has had a um, knock to the um, private area” “Right, some little shit has kicked our boy in the balls Jon. You better get to the school and sort it” I was at work. Seething into my latte. Waiting impatiently for him to come back and tell me what had gone down. Turns out it was an accidental knock to the nads. He got in the way of a flying foot. They have a tendency to do that feet, especially when attached to a 7 year old boy it seems. All checked over the other half traipses home to resume his game of Fifa. Bugger me if an hour later they weren’t  back on the phone “could you come to the school please? Your son has had a bump to the head” “Jon, get down the school again love, someones tried to cave his skull in this time” all I can hear is the sound of the Xbox controller hitting the deck as he exhales VERY loudly and legs it out the door again. Reporting back the fella tells me he caused his own head injury, not by impressing girls this time but trying to retrieve his pencil and smashing the back of his head on the table on the way back up. No matter how many times you scream “watch your head” at a kid it never, ever sinks in.

Sixth Non-sense

‘We’d like to make an appointment with you to discuss your son’s progress in sixth form.’ says the chirpy receptionist, knowing full well a bollocking is coming my way in the near future. I wasn’t wrong. “we have concerns that maybe sixth form isn’t for him” says the scary teacher sat in front of me. She then goes on to tell me that she doesn’t think it’s the path he’s destined for as I squirm in my chair feeling like I’d rather be ANYWHERE but here. “He really isn’t putting any effort in and we get the feeling there’s a million other things he’d rather be doing (lying in bed being the main one. Probably.) so we think it’s best he revisits his thoughts about his future and let’s us know where we go from here” accompanied by ‘the look’ that makes you feel like a completely useless parent from Knobsville. I really wanted to tell her to shove it up her arse – purely for the look – but I didn’t, I was very adultish. I looked at him, he was very interested in a poster on the wall funnily enough. Think it might have been something about not sharing dirty daps. He blurted out something that vaguely resembled English which I took to mean “I hate sixth form” and so there and then on that day he left. Just like that. I swear she high fived herself. And off we drove back to Knobsville. Via the Jobcentre.

Have you ever been called to the school?

julie-x-2

Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday

My Top 10 Parenting Fails!

Let’s be honest, no parent is perfect.We all make mistakes,balls things up regularly and I’m sure most of us have thoughts such as “what the hell am I meant to do now?” when faced with a new baby to look after alone! So here are some of the things I’ve naffed up so far – and these are just the ones I haven’t hidden in the ‘too embarrassed to remember’ memory banks!

1.The time I forgot to pack sick bags for my child who got terrible car sickness and as I had a brand spanking new courtesy car at the time I didn’t want him vomming all over it I had to give him my freshly bought day old handbag. Couldn’t face washing it out and had to bin it!

2.The time I left it 2 seconds longer than I should have to find out why my daughter was quiet only to find her in the bathroom covering herself in tooth paste. Mmmm Minty fresh!

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3.The time the hubby and I were  brave whilst we were potty training and took our daughter to his Mum’s without a clean pull-up.Cue wet patch on her settee and cream carpet. Awkward.

4.The time I thought “what harm could it do?” if I let my little man eat Coco Pops on the living room floor.What could possibly go wrong. Right?

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5.The time I didn’t check that we did, in fact, still have spare clothes in the boot of the car and let the kids play in the stream. Cue poor little 6 year old boy crying on the way home as the makeshift cover-up hoody “looked like a skirt”.

6.The time,whilst baking with the kids, I said “don’t touch anything” while I went to get something. Came back to find my kitchen like a scene from Frozen. No pics sadly,was too traumatized.

7.The time my Mum was watching Countdown and every time the Countdown clock got to the end my 3 year old shouted “Effing hell” to this day I have NO idea where on earth he got it from as I never watch it! Fair to say she was horrified – although I’m sure I saw a sneaky smirk as she turned away.

8.The time I forgot to give my son his dinner money, on ringing the secretary to apologise and ask if they could provide him with a lunch and I would pay later I was met with a stony silence – I’m sure she was pressing the speed dial for Social Services. Surely I can’t have been the first – or last?!

9.The time my 2 year old daughter did a runner in Asda only to be picked up giggling and brought back by the Security Guard, in the meantime her Father and I had 3 heart attacks each and lost at least 10 years off our lives!

10.The time I got on the bus and this pic was scrawled on the seat in front.I’m ashamed to say I absolutely wet myself and the kids thought I’d completely lost the plot and wanted to know why I was laughing. Obvs I said it was because there was a silly man making faces outside!

 

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First featured on:

Rookie Mistakes

Sympathy Empathy Wimpathy

Driving to work I ran over a squirrel, he was already dead mind you but I felt really bad for him. He would have no idea about of course but still I felt terribly guilty. How would I feel in his situation? Well dead, probably.

Sometimes though I think I empathise and ‘put myself in another person’s shoes’ a little too much. I’m the type of person who overthinks absolutely everything to a ridiculous degree. The Other Half and I argue all the time over discipline of the teen. He thinks if he’s stupidly late home he should be locked out end of. I however would panic that something would happen, what if he freezes to death, what if aliens, what if clowns, what if some idiot decided to hurt him just for fun ? I just can’t follow it through. Is it a maternal thing or just my nature? He says I’m just a soft touch, a wimp. I need to put my foot down and be tougher.

Sometimes I take it way too far like with poor old Sammy Squirrel. I’ve also found myself feeling sorry for a lone bean left in the tin. I mean come on! I still have to fish the poor sod out, even though I’m sending him to a certain death by boiling him in tomato sauce anyway. Not sure which is worse but I wouldn’t want him to be all lonely and stuff.

Other things I feel sorry for include:

• Dolls my daughter has stripped down naked. Have to redress them at night, OMG what if they got cold? Poor buggers, I’d never forgive myself.

• The last cake left. How on earth people work in Greggs is beyond me. I’d never be able to let that last doughnut be alone. I’d retire looking like Violet Beauregarde.

• The poor Malteser that rolled under the sofa. Can’t bring myself to eat that one though. Can I?

• Older people who look really shocked when you smile at them. I carry on walking whilst worrying to myself whether I should have invited them home for a cuppa, what if they haven’t spoken to anyone in weeks? More likely they just think I’m a right weirdo and hope I won’t nick their handbag.

• This sweet that someone left in the dish at work, who in their right mind leaves a sweet all alone in the world. What kind of monsters am I working with?

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• Other peoples kids that cry in town. Now that kid could be crying because their Mum said no to them taking the plastic owl home from outside Greggs that’s there to scare the pigeons – not that the pigeons care they stick up 2 claws behind it’s back and spark up a fag- but hey that kid thought it was the cutest thing ever despite it having barely any paint on it and looking like it had a rough night at the Billy’s Bird Bar. Still makes me feel all ‘aww love him’.

Is it a bad thing that I feel so much sympathy/empathy/wimpathy should I ‘man up’ so to speak or is it good that I’m one of lifes carers? Do you ever find yourself feeling sorry for something completely random?

julie-x-2

Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday
Modern Dad Pages

 

Getting A Teen Out Of Bed

Right now you may have little ones and be experiencing  5.30a.m morning wake ups and sit there wishing they ‘would just stay in bed and give you a lie in’. STOP. Karma will come around and kick you right up the bum when they turn into a teenager and you can’t get the sod out of bed for love nor money. Here are the stages of getting said teenager up that happen in our house. Insert Spongebob style ’10 minutes later’ between each one.

Stage 1

This is the stage where you’re still optimistic that today will be the day that they get up without the hassle. Pahahahahaha.You knock the door whilst steeling yourself for the stench, run in and shake them awake cheerily telling them if they get up now there’s plenty of time for shower, breakfast and a cuppa.

Stage2

10 minutes later you realise there is no movement going on upstairs and stomp back up in the hope that your heavy footsteps will get them shifting. Does it heck. They’re still lying there bleary eyed saying “what?”. Keep calm, they’re bound to get up soon, they’ll be worried about being late.Right?!

Stage 3
Now you’re getting your hair off, they’re taking the mickey. So you go up and threaten them that if you have to come up again you’ll be bringing a bucket of water. They sigh and moan “for god’s sake” under their breath. Yes, because obviously I’m doing this for fun. It’s the highlight of my day don’t you know?! I really don’t have anything better to do like sticking hot pokers in my eyes, the usual.

Stage 4

Right they’re still not up. So you realise it’s time to make good on your threat to throw water. You spend a few minutes looking for the bucket you bought the kids at the beach in the summer and when you remember they’re probably at the back of the shed with the false widows and tube webs you decide ‘sod that for a laugh’ and just grab the mop bucket, chuck the mouldy smelling mop across the kitchen in annoyance and fill it up. Drag the heavy sodding thing up the stairs only to find right at the last second the teen will magically launch themselves out of bed and shout “I was up, stop stressing” You fight the urge to drench the cheeky git anyway, grit your teeth muttering about ‘lazy bloody kids’ lug the bucket back downstairs and get ready to start fighting ‘get dressed and ready wars’ where they’ll race down the stairs – steady on- to shout about the favourite t-shirt/skinny jeans/trainers they can’t find and you’ve obviously moved. Believe me mate I wouldn’t touch your stinky clodhoppers if my life depended on it!

So honestly, if you are reading this bleary eyed at the crack of a sparrow’s fart then just remember it’ll come full circle in a few years time.

Are your teens like this too? Are you one of the lucky ones who’s teens get up without a fuss?

julie-x-2

Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday

Dear Diary 5th September 2016

As I no longer keep a ‘proper’ diary – well I do but it’s at the bottom of my handbag with pen marks and a random raisin stuck to it – I’ve decided to start a blog version instead. It won’t be as interesting as my teenage one then again my teens weren’t all that exciting if I’m honest I was a bit of a goody two shoes.

Dear Diary…this week I have realised that you should never get complacent and think that now she’s 4 your daughter will stop being quite so mischievous. Big fat metaphorical V sign behind my back to that one from her. Once I start running that washing up water it’s like a red rag to a bull and she’s off on her next adventure.

She covered her face in SuperStay 24 hour foundation that did NOT bloody want to come off. I had to take to Twitter to ask for help with removing it. How on earth do you shift something that doesn’t want to come off and you don’t have makeup remover? Coconut oil that’s how. Learn something new everyday. I Googled ‘on top of roof storage’ but the prices were sky high. Turning into my Dad I am. I swear.


Just when I got over the shock of her making herself biscuit coloured she goes and does something worse. It’s a Saturday afternoon, I’m sat at work having just got myself a coffee and thinking how amazing it is that I can drink it in peace. Pahaha. Pahahahahahahaha. Phonecall from the other half. “Little lady’s hair is falling out in handfuls, what the hell do I do?” So coffee gets poured out and I get home as quick as you like to find that the ‘hair that’s fallen out’ looks suspiciously neat and tidy. Like it’s been cut. Oh god…vague recollections flood my brain of a half listened to conversation with darling daughter about how she was playing hairdressers. “You know Mum, cut, cut, cut.” Only she wasn’t pretending was she? She’d found that pair of hairdressing scissors I bought on impulse and hid in my knicker drawer goodness knows how long ago.


It didn’t end there. Ohhhh no. She covered her whole leg in red glittery nail varnish the very next bloody day. Next time you think she’s with OH and OH thinks she’s with you? Check. For the love of God check. It’s highly likely that she’s painting her face with the eyeshadow you bought for best. Only it’s not ‘best’ now is it? It’s like the mashed up poo coloured Play – Doh version of eyeshadow. Not sure that’s gonna cut it at the party on the weekend.


I have a party to go to. Not a horrific softplay, kids battering crap out of each other on a massive sugar rush kind of party. An actual real life adults party. Not a swingers jobby mind you, just a fun Birthday party. A PARTY? What the frigging hell am I meant to wear? What do people wear to parties these days? Oh, this could all go so horribly wrong. What if I underplay it and everyone thinks I’m a scruffy cow and ask where Wayne is? What if I overplay it and get looks from everyone wondering who ‘the slag in the corner’ is? So many things to think about. Do I wear heels and risk falling on my face or wear flats and feel as though I couldn’t be arsed really? I’ll wing it. What could possibly go wrong…

 

 

 

Julie x (2)