Sulking. Emotionally wounded all before 9am. 

Mummabear is wounded. Hurt by words. Scarred by her failings and torturing herself with what she assumes other families do on Sunday mornings

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Sunday’s generally comprise of Rugby matches in the ungodliest of weather conditions, ironing piles and Roast dinner (the saving grace). Sounds fairly standard I suppose? Except thrown into our normal Sunday routine is what I can only honestly describe as mummabears sulk. It’s not that I don’t like Sundays or rugby viewing in the cold for that matter but something about Sunday seems to mark the ‘you are failing as a parent’ card.

Today it was a pda breakfast protest. But it could have been anything. Sleep deprivation catches up on me…mostly by Sunday so I’m low on tolerance and patience and in mummabears true style I’m also newly determined (as we are embarking on a new week) that ‘ From now on’ we shall not be dictated to by PDA nor shall I allow children (PDAer or biggerbruv) to speak to me disrespectfilly. No ‘good’ parent would right? But of course I’ve decided not just this. I’ve created a mummabear monster who is expectant of not just well mannered children but also for those children to miraculously have morphed over night and comprehend the ‘new rules’ despite having had a late night.

Here comes the first blow. Baby bears wake up foul when short on sleep just like mummabear. Daddybear opts for “I’m not getting involved” attitude sensing mummabears is on a mission and all to knowingly ready for eruptions. 

On first glance mummabear appeared to have things nailed. Delivered clean rugby kits to babybears and giving clear firm instructions (carefully worded for pda’er to avoid instant meltdown) and cleverly informing them that breakfast was not up for debate or negotiation other than they could pick ‘small/medium or large’ bowl of cereal. Normally here would be where I’d insert ‘mega meltdown’ but even pda’er despite initial refusals requested a large bowl of chocolate crisp (not healthy but also not me being demanded of bacon and eggs). We’d agreed a choice of lunches to look forward to after rugby. All seemed well. That’s where I come undone. I allowed myself just briefly to feel ‘smug’, to feel I’d achieved my goal all without the help of daddybear and more importantly without losing my cool. Bonus.

NOT! Bliss is interrupted by Bigger bruv requiring some attention for some cream to be applied to a sore. A sore that I hold accountable for the resulting pda’er meltdown. “Urgh you’re disgusting I can’t eat now” (that’s the mild censored version of what came out of 7 yr old’s mouth) along with lobbing the ‘large’ bowl of cereal and verbally lashing out with unnecessary insults towards Bigger bruv and mummabear. Mummabear at this point is emotionally broken. It can happen that quick. To be so gutted that it’s pre 9am and it’s already cocked up is so overwhelming for sleep deprived mummabear that it’s a red flag to a bull. Children were not supposed to be rude and disrespectful today. Today was going to be different. Crap. I’m failing. Mummabear launches into response without clear planning or breathing (to allow necessary oxygen to reach the part of the brain that acts rationally!) And so we are in battle mode. A quick ‘consequential reminder’ is ineffective with PDA and knowing the strength and stubbornness of littlestbruv, mummabear opts for physically removing him from the room, partly to save Bigger bruv from the onslaught and mostly to get some desired effect (they had a movie on in this room so removing him removed that privledge) but now he’s proper furious and the abuse is hurled full throttle.

Mummabear regains mild control (of herself and the situation) by bringing in the newly purchased tool of a lovely brightly coloured sand timer (I’ve purchased 3 of varying times and I’ve quickly discovered that this means I can assess how much time I need to feel calm again and so use that colour accordingly) and instruct that he was to sit ‘there’ and think about the way he had reacted and spoken to me. He of course threatened to smash the timer but relented when threatened with the longer time frame of the blue timer I had not selected on this occasion!

During the timer break mummabear sips coffee and delivers daddybear his, whilst uttering mildly mad-woman comments like “I’m not putting up with this any longer” and “I will not give in” only to be greeted by the back of daddybear who is probably pretty pissed off to have been woken with this kind of shit again. We go to bed to this kind of shit too so we are all a touch bored of the same shit different day motto. But not today. Today was supposed to be different.

In the moments that follow the timer finishing mummabear receives a half arsed attempt at restarting the battle from pda’er before getting a disgruntled ‘sorry’ accompanied with the disclosure that there was no way i was going to get him to eat anything now. Oh well. I’m certain he’s had a few mouthfulls pre meltdown so that will have to do. Bigger bruv then brings out his big guns opting to also speak to mummabear like the proverbial piece of poo which brings about more stern words and ‘consequences’ because today is different remember. Daddybear chooses to join me on the frontline and reinforces some of my more rational utterings and before we all know it we are somehow all dressed and in the car on the way to rugby. 

Pda’er is showing minimal sign of remorse although he’s complied and is in the back seat as requested so that’s good enough for me. Bigger bruv is conscious of mummabears resting bitch face (see previous blog) and intermittently offers sorry’s and random conversations to try and break the mood in the car. Mummabear and daddybear barely communicate aside from pleasantries because the discussion mummabear wants to have is not for baby bears ears.

Mummabear is wounded. Hurt by words. Scarred by her failings and torturing herself with what she assumes other families do on Sunday mornings.

Although completely pointless  (other than allowing time for writing this blog) mummabear sits in the car sulking instead of joining her boys pitch-side.oh crap. There’s something else to feel shit about. And so with one long sigh topped with a deep breath and a search for a snippet of blue sky mummabear pulls herself together and pursues the supportive mother role in the cold. (Not without grabbing a coffee first… and definitely definitely not relenting on the today will be different motto) 

☆3 positives☆

1) the day is still young and despite a rough start I can choose to write a better middle and ending-  think I’ll go zumba tonight

2) I’m booking some flights later for a much needed short ‘adult only’ break 

3) last night (the late to bed night) we survived (unscathed) a friends party where pda’er would usually have numerous meltdowns

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