3.4.15

Note to Self: Stop Being a Lunatic

Today my husband is off and we decided to tackle the household chores together (as in I said come and help me clean the house as I always f*cking do it). Whilst doing the NEVER ENDING job of putting the away the NEVER ENDING washing I said "now make sure when you put away the girls clothes you put it in the variety of clothes. For example a short sleeved T shirt or a skirt". He replied "Oh? I always do it by colour". My reply? "Yes well a pink skirt is VERY different to a pink jumper". He looked at me blankly and walked off, arms full of washing.

It then dawned on me? I have frickin lost my sh*t. I have become a controlling loon bag. Who micro manages everything from how the wardrobes look to what snacks the children eat to how we spend our holidays. I've lost the plot. Sometimes as 'The Mummy' we feel that it is our responsibility to always be the one in control. In fact sometimes? I think we kinda enjoy a good moan that it is always us who takes the kids to the kids parties. It's always us who makes the crap hats for the Easter parade. Endures crafts and making awful fairy cakes.


My husband is a very intelligent man with a good job. Since I have known him he has worked hard and got promotions. He deals with multi £1million projects, yet when it comes to the project of sorting his children's clothes I feel the need to point out he is crap at it. Why is this? I put it down to the fact that as I only work two days a week I feel the during the other three I need to be in total control. I need to prove my worth. That I am actually doing something with my time and not just sitting on my arse watching Zoella YouTube videos dreaming of being 24 whilst the kids run riot on Fruit Shoots.

I need to - gulp - let go a bit. I entrust my children to their Father with no qualms. I have some friends who are not keen on doing that but I know he always will take good care of them. Even if good care means going to my Mother in Laws or soft play. But? I always leave their outfit out. Which is weird. I mean in the scheme of life does it really matter if my son goes out in mismatched socks or wears a pyjama top mistaken for a real top. Nope? It does not. They are with their Dad. They are loved. They are safe. Sure they look like tramps. But they are happy.


So this weekend I am getting all crazy and giving my husband the task of organising our Easter Egg hunt. I know?! Mad eh? What if the Easter Eggs are placed in easy reach of the dog, or near a radiator so they melt at night? What if the clues don't make sense or I DON'T KNOW IF IT IS ALL SH*T AND THEIR EASTER AGED 2 AND 4 IS RUINED? Or worse what if it's better than one I would have done? Only time will tell and I suppose if either of those things happen I can always console myself in the fact I will ALWAYS win at dressing my kids in matching clothes. BOOM!

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