This morning I wrote a post called Going for Gold. It was about having to take my girls to work with me and their reward for good behaviour. I had not finished editing the post before leaving so it did not actually go live until we had returned home.
When I publish here on WordPress a link automatically comes up on my Facebook page to let my friends and family know, so when today’s link turned up I wrote a little comment about how cross, upset and disappointed I was in AJ’s and Bart’s behaviour. You see, my daughters behaved abominably. My administration job is in my bosses home and he and his wife are foster carers, so they know full well how children behave. But when someone who has years of experience and welcomed over a hundred children into his home has to raise his voice to my kids I was mortified.
After writing my comment it took me three or four minutes to press the enter button to post it. I tell Facebook about the little things and humourous stories of living with the girls, but I, along with most of my friends on Facebook never really tell the bad stuff. The one who really does makes truthful comments is my younger sister. She has more than once noted how hard work her sons can be and I applaud her for it. Occasionally I will put *sigh* or something equally vague on there and my closest friends check I am okay. Or I did comment once that I live with Itchy and Scratchy, trying to find humour in the situation, but I never really write about how difficult some days are. And there are some hellish days.
I wonder why this is. Why are we all trying to put on a perfect front and pretend our lives are sunshine and roses all the way? Because come on, no one has that life, or if you do it should be amended to sunshine, roses and gin!
So maybe I should write the truth and say that yesterday I took my girls shopping and by the time we were in the third store I had had enough and was ready to put them on a shelf and walk away. Or that I gave Bart the chance to walk in the supermarket but she played around on the escalator and would not come back when I told her to, so she had a screaming fit when I put her in the trolley seat. Or amongst the many other things, after being told for the fourth time this morning to tidy up all the ripped paper on the floor at my place of work, AJ stamped her foot in temper and stomped out of the room. Or that when we got home I found she had stolen a pen. Or the time when we took Nibbles to the vet, where he were seen by the same young man who had previously looked at Harry and AJ said to him “Not you again.” (Although when we took Talulah a week later he made the same comment back to her.) My girls fight and argue… constantly. They ignore me when I ask them to do something and Jay and I have to stand over them to get them to tidy their toys, in fact Bart would rather me vacuum her toys up and throw them in the bin than put them away herself as she has demonstrated… twice.
Quite frankly there are days when bed time can not come soon enough and by the time they are up stairs asleep all I can do is crash on the sofa.
My girls are funny, beautiful, smart and loving. They are also selfish, defiant, argumentative and destructive.
I know I am not the only Mum living this, but am I the only one willing to put it in print? Even as I am typing my heart is thumping and I am nervous. Should I really be telling the truth or just carry on hiding it like the rest of the world? Until I press “Publish” I won’t know if I really have the courage.