The Curly Ones

Dearest Joan,

F*#k being a mum is hard. Nothing ground breaking or earth shattering about that statement. Nothing that millions of mothers feel on a daily basis, probably dads too. The thing is Joan, it’s the small things that floor me. The emotional rollercoaster of growing, the friendship issues, the homework fights, the “you will brush your teeth” argument on a daily basis – I’m ok with or at least have accepted as part of being mum.


what I was not prepared for, was crying over deodorant. I was giving the big kid a cuddle before bed. Normally the kids have their wash before bed but that night, we had got home late and they just needed to get into bed. Anyway, back to cuddles and the smell of a stinky pit. Alright, alright the next sentence that came out of my mouth may not have been the most sensitive line but it did. “You have stinky pits.” Laden with tact? Nope. Not one bit.

Queue crying.

Shit me. Didn’t see it coming. “I’m only 8!” she laments. I tried back tracking, being gentle. Too late Eve. Too late. The damage of stinky pits is done.

I have already caused other longterm damage that will eventually be a funny anecdote when she is an adult. Imagine if you will standing in the middle of a quaint little village in England, waiting for our friends to arrive when BAM! “How are babies made?” I was scrambling for anything. I said sperm, egg, baby, grow – oh look there are our friends. What is with me? I’m a teacher. I should be a pro at this.

Oh Joan. I always thought Valentine’s Day was a safe one. What could a kid possibly say then? Well, the family was driving home after school having a discussion on how dad hasn’t bought mum anything. That sounds way worse then intended. Let me explain. The girls were asking if dad had bought me anything, I said no – we have no time and that it is ok because I know dad loves me – when the big kid let this one go ….”Mums and Dads have naked cuddles and kisses on Valentine’s Day.” Oh. My. Gosh.

Insert uncontrollable shoulder shuddering, while I look out the window and ignore what has just been said. Yep. Ignore. Not acknowledge. The husband didn’t even here. Two mins later, it was repeated. My eyes went big. The husband shot it down with a remark of how he doesn’t want to hear it again. End of. Yep. All class. Dealing with the big ones here with a whole lot of maturity.

Oh Joan. It makes me understand my mum that bit better. Any stuff ups she made were done out of pure panic. hahahahahaha and out of love.

Hopefully the kids will get that one day.

Anyway Joan,

Hope you are well.


Post Script

Today my kids were in a poetry recital. The big one was also one of the hosts. Though they throw curly ones, I could not have been a prouder mum.


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