Slummy Single Mummy
Jo Middleton is a freelance writer and mother of two girls, aged 17 and 10, who enjoy relentlessly winding each other up in high-pitched voices. Jo writes the award-winning blog Slummy Single Mummy and likes to escape from real life with wine, biscuits and TV reruns of Miss Marple mysteries.
The highs and lows of muffins and motherhood
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Slummy single mummy
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Monday, 29 October 2012
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Shopping in Debenhams at the weekend, I witnessed one of those classic parenting moments – the sort of incident that makes every nearby mum smile knowingly, and makes me in particular very glad that my children are now of the age where they can be easily bribed with a nice sit down and a chocolate muffin in Starbucks.
“Stop it,” one harassed looking mother was saying to her small son, “you’re being a real pain today.”
“NO I’M NOT!” he shouted, clearly aghast at being accused of such a thing. “NO I’M NOT! NO I’M NOT!”
The mother sighed heavily, as her tiny, furious son glared indignantly. “You’re doing it right now,” she said.
“I’M NOT I’M NOT I’M NOT!!” he yelled, running around in increasingly large concentric circles, arms outstretched, primed to knock off the assortment of olive oils and miniature bottles of Jack Daniels, overly packaged and covered in bells, ready for Christmas.
“Well you are,” she said.
“I’M NOT!!” he screamed, ricocheting off a display of suitcases and into a large box of cushions.
My days of having to deal with toddler tantrums are thankfully far behind me. Although at times the cutting sarcasm and teenage ‘we’re all going to die anyway so what’s the point’ attitude can be a tad wearing, it will never provoke that same sense of pure helplessness and frustration that makes you want to bury your toddler under the cushions, grab the festive miniatures, and hide in a suitcase.
A cause for celebration I think. Chocolate muffin anyone?
“Stop it,” one harassed looking mother was saying to her small son, “you’re being a real pain today.”
“NO I’M NOT!” he shouted, clearly aghast at being accused of such a thing. “NO I’M NOT! NO I’M NOT!”
The mother sighed heavily, as her tiny, furious son glared indignantly. “You’re doing it right now,” she said.
“I’M NOT I’M NOT I’M NOT!!” he yelled, running around in increasingly large concentric circles, arms outstretched, primed to knock off the assortment of olive oils and miniature bottles of Jack Daniels, overly packaged and covered in bells, ready for Christmas.
“Well you are,” she said.
“I’M NOT!!” he screamed, ricocheting off a display of suitcases and into a large box of cushions.
My days of having to deal with toddler tantrums are thankfully far behind me. Although at times the cutting sarcasm and teenage ‘we’re all going to die anyway so what’s the point’ attitude can be a tad wearing, it will never provoke that same sense of pure helplessness and frustration that makes you want to bury your toddler under the cushions, grab the festive miniatures, and hide in a suitcase.
A cause for celebration I think. Chocolate muffin anyone?
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