“What’s so special about grown ups that ye get to stay up late every night…?”
I’ve been asked this many a time by a sullen, hard done by little girl who thinks I’m the meanest mammy e.v.e.r to be sending her to bed! She’s exhausted, she’s the first to admit when she’s so tired yet she fights the bedtime every time! I was in no way any different myself though, I remember it like it was yesterday. The nine o clock news might be starting, the fire is flickering away and the little brother has already nodded off and suddenly now more than ever in your short to date little life, now is the time you are enthralled by, nae entranced by current affairs. Whatever it might be- boring budget talk, an article about a spate of car theft, maybe something as exciting as a referendum (whatever that is to a 7-year-old). It wouldn’t matter the subject, if mammy hasn’t spoken then maybe it means mammy hasn’t noticed that you are still on the couch next to her. Be quiet. Be more quiet than you have ever been. Be interested in the news. Somehow, somehow she might forget to send you to bed! My kids do that now in the very same way as I did it at their age! And they think it’s a new trick, something original that they have engineered and mastered! HA! Don’t think so suckers!! Mamma has been there, tried that, wore the bedshirt!
Gosh, if only the reality of ‘after bedtime’ was as amazing and fun as they seem to think it is! If only it meant kids sleep-parents party! It rarely even means movie night or TV binge.
RealityLand…it’s not at all exciting. It’s laundry. its floor mopping. Its un-microwaved tea (what a luxury) Its planning and scrubbing and at best it’s a guilty half hour of Kardashian catch up.
I’m here tonight for example and yes I have taken the time to come online for a while and yes I have X-Factor on in the background and yes there has been a little cake consumed but now that all that is done with and it’s heading towards 10pm I have to start the catch up and set up. I need to catch up on today and set up for tomorrow. The kitchen has all the evidence of home-made lasagne dinner all over every surface, the floors are like those in a sticky underground nightclub and can pretty much only be mopped at night because doing it while the kids are up is lethal. Wet floors here are like a slippery ice rink. There are four piles of washed and folded clothes on the futility room counter (yeah I call it my futility room because it’s utterly pointless trying to keep it tidy. It’s the go-to dump zone!) and lets not mention the stacks of clothes yet to be washed. If I was organised mom like I was back in that first week of September then I would iron a weeks worth of uniforms and pack tomorrows lunch tonight but that lady with her planning and enthusiasm is just not me! She’s only a front, a mask I try out on occasion. She’s someone I certainly wouldn’t mind growing up to be. And at 33 I’m still hoping I’ll grow up one day!
Oh dear…just found myself looking at the clock and thinking it’s time for a new Kardashian episode! I’ll get sucked into this and all that stuff mentioned in the previous paragraph will still be there looking for someone, me, to tend to it in an hour.
Bedtime just got pushed back another hour for mammy! Shoot!