Covid Diaries, March 22nd, Mother

MissM found a four leaf clover today. Hidden away under the leaves of the fading daffodils in the pot by our back door. She was delighted, convinced that luck was now bestowed upon her.  Let’s hope so, she’s got me teaching her from tomorrow so she might need it!

It’s Mother’s day here in the UK. We are supposed to thank and celebrate mothers. The little, personal shows of love are wonderful. The hand made gifts and dodgy toast, but the broader idea? I’m not sure. The cards all declare “world’s Best Mum” “Mum You’re Perfect”. But I’m not, of course, I’m not. There are far worse but I lose my patience with the faffing about and stupid fucking noises and I yell and then I feel bad about yelling. I have undoubtedly already found endless ways to ensure my children will benefit from therapy and they aren’t even teens.

So Where is this perfect No.1 Mum? The endless spring of patience and love, the woman who not only accepts but delights in laying aside everything of herself for her children? The Bible? Fairy tales? Perhaps the whisky sodden imaginings of a Daily Mail columnist? She is certainly not at this desk, so I’m going to have to do some serious deep digging in the next few days.

I know a lot of people would say to just go with the flow and follow the children to see what we should do. I can see where that is coming from, but left to follow their own path for about ten minutes my kids will just play ” lets all hit each other until someone cries”.  But that is blaming them, the truth is I am just not a wingin’ it kind of gal. I worry, I research, and then I write a shit ton of lists and if they can involve a colour coded spreadsheet then so much the better.

So I have not spent mothers day in bed or taking some “me time”. I’ve made a schedule, tried to predict how I can shoe-horn 3 hours of supervised activity into days that already feel overwhelmingly full.  I’ve organised who needs what device, which printout. When there must be crayons. I’ve planned how and what we will eat, how we will get some exercise.

So I’m all set.

Bollocks am I!

My scientific estimation is that there is approximately fuck all chance of this running smoothly. But I’m trying. I am not the best mum in the world and I’m going to have to try to be a damn sight better than I normally am but maybe that clover will be on our side? Maybe it won’t be a complete unmitigated screaming disaster?

Deep breath mums (and Dad’s and anyone else) about to dive into this murky lake. Good luck.


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