Wednesday, 15 October 2014

The Competition

Generally my husband and I are quite good at co-parenting. He is in his happy little box as 'good cop' and I am reluctantly in my grumpy box as 'bad cop'. But sometimes. Ever so often. This tough old game of playing Mummy and Daddy results in an ALL OUT WAR. Not the kind of war where bombs are thrown and shots are fired. The kind of war where words are uttered under our breaths, eyes are rolled, angry face emoticons are text and strops are thrown (me not him).

Ever had this kind of conversation?:
Him: Shall I go and put another load of washing on?
Me: (mildly irked) Why?
Him: She has no clean school shirt ready for tomorrow.
Me: (now slightly overreacting) WHY DO I ALWAYS DO THE WASHING YOU NEVER DO THE WASHING I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SAY I NEVER DO THE WASHING WHEN I ALWAYS DO.
Him: (baffled silence). Oh.

Smug winning face

A simple conversation about washed shirts, turns into an unspoken competition about who does and who doesn't do all the household chores in our house. Him, cross the shirt isn't ready. Me, cross that the shirt not being ready is some indication I am a bad mother and wife. When at the end of the day? We just probably need more shirts.

There's other little things. My husband and the kids have a weird handshake. Yes. A handshake. Like what the Fresh Prince of Bel Air may have had. We now have the daily trauma of him doing 'the handshake' before he leaves for work. If this does not happen in the correct way? We have tears and weeps and howls and me trying, and failing to do 'the handshake'. Then the angry "you forgot the handshake" texts start. My handshake just doesn't cut it. In this house I am uncool Carlton (really committing to the Fresh Prince analogy here).

My girl chose me to go to her first swimming lesson. ME! I was honoured. I was pleased. And more than anything I was ruddy smug. I did a small dance (yes like Carlton) and skipped all the way to the lesson. I text whilst there just to ensure he knew I had been chosen. And that in some small way means I am the best parent in our house. On the way back? She said to me "next week Daddy will come with me". I was crushed. I thought swimming could be our handshake. "We can take it in turns as I know both of you would love to see me swim". I nodded sadly and thought how can a three year old be more sensible when it comes to situations like this? How can she grasp the rules of sharing and we can't?

Generally my blog posts come to some conclusion, or some solution. This time? There is non. I shall continue to be bad cop and my husband the good cop. We will continue in our own small weird ways to prove that we are the better parent. Me doing that extra load of washing and being a huge martyr about it. Him making a song and dance of his bloody handshake. But at the end of the day. If we are both trying our very hardest to be the very best? That's no bad thing. We may be at war but our children are reaping the benefits of two (albeit cray cray) loving parents.

18 comments:

  1. We have this dilemma in our house! I always tend to be 'good cop' and hubs 'bad cop', however this has only recently become this way, since our Eldest realised that daddy wants to keep her his little girl forever! There was a time, I didn't get a look in and she always chose him...Always!!! xx

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    1. Sob - it is so hard. It makes me sad. I need to be less smug though. One day I will be number one. One day! So lovely to meet you yesterday hun xxx

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    2. Was lovely meeting you too!! Must collab soon xx

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  2. Ha ha - now, all I have is the image in my head of you dancing like Carlton! Fab! Can we please see this at Blogfest?! Yes, I too am the bad cop and Hubby is the fun, happy, smiley, parent who plays games with them like throw them about and who lets them watch Frozen 8 times in a weekend. I will never compete. Jess x

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    1. Of course you can see it at Blogfest! Fo sure! The hub always throws them around. Urgh. Makes me mad! x

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  3. I can imagine how tough that must be, to feel like the uncool parent. But imagine being the cool parent, and being forced to change all the poo nappies. Imagine that sista!

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    1. I liked you called me sista. I feel this should be our thing x

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  4. Awww, I'm so lucky with my son. He is ALWAYS on my side. It really pisses my hubbie off. Tee hee hee! Think I'm on to a loser with my daughter though. She's a daddy's girl. Great post as always honey. Always something to relate to xxx

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    1. Ah thanks lovely lady glad you are back x

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  5. Ha ha ha! I just haven't got a hope in my house. All the boys worship their daddy and that is that. I swear they'd rather be put to bed by the Tesco delivery lady than me. Sigh. *NB This should not be taken to imply that I will try for a daughter. Great post poppet! xxx

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    1. Ha ha ha! The Tesco comment really made me laugh! x

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  6. We don't have kids, but we still have that washing conversation. Well, we used to. Now it's just a sigh and the occasional look of death, on a bad day. (We like to keep things low key and dark. ;-)

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  7. So funny, I was thinking about writing a post on parental jealousy. Bubs has decided he's a daddy's boy this week and I'm feeling the green-eyed monster rear it's ugly head!

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    1. Sigh. It is hard not to be jel. When you LOVE THEM SO MUCH! x

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  8. Heehee - sadly I am so crap at washing I kind of rely on him to do it constantly… except when he goes away with work (like this week) when I realise I have no clean clothes and have to wear the same leggings for 4 days. Which I don't even feel ashamed about… lol x Liking the new look blog btw… (sorry I'm a bit behind!) xxx

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    1. When preggers? I think leggings is the only way forward. I am not sure what my excuse is! x

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