Does the Mumma Guilt ever go away?

Are there any who walk among us who have slain the guilt dragon?

And if it wasn’t Mumma Guilt, would I have some other type of guilt: too fat, too slim, too lazy, too poor, too unfit, too ______ (insert your own negative concept here).

It’s the last day of the school holidays here, and we’ve had a blast.  Lots of laughs, lots of hugs, lots of jostling for attention and figuring out where we fit in the scheme of things (because yes, in my world, even sibling fights and annoying your parents and pushing boundaries are imperative to whole person development- and that’s just for me), lots of busy days and lazy days.  We have been out all day, and also stayed in our pyjamas.  We have gotten Coco a transfusion, been to the city, flown down to Newcastle, tended herb gardens, played in the sunshine on the beach, at the parks, in the trees.  We have defied gravity riding skate-boards down hills, ridden bikes, shot for goals, danced to new music, seen movies, visited cafes, had friends over, sat by open fires, toasted marshies, and sat staring at the water.  We have watched sunrises and sunsets, baked sweet treats, been to the shops together, written diaries (or blogs), read books together on the couch and played board games (yes, even frigging Pokemon).  We have laughed and sometimes cried when we drank Cherry Beers and wished our friend was still alive.  Hell, we have even done some craft (‘Thanks a lot” for this book from the the gates of Hell, Lara).

189 pages of unmitigated pain right there. I suspect this “text of the devil” deserves its own post…

Even with all of that, I have a strange feeling of unease, because I really, really need to get something done here at home today, and so we have decided to have a day at home, for this last day of the holidays.  So the kids will mainly amuse themselves.  Which will mean gaming.  Sure, they will also read a bit, eat a bit and run around a bit outside, but mainly, I know from experience, they will be “joining game”.  That means Minecraft.

As I (neglectfully) type they are in a room together, laughing like loons, at two Minecraft puppies named Chocolate and Cookies who are apparently jumping all over the mushrooms houses.  Or something.  They came out a moment ago, pissing themselves, garbled some unintelligible computery sounding phrases to me, and ran off, giggling.  Apparently there is a new update for Minecraft PE (Pocket Edition) and it is the best ever update.  Ever.  Something something, flowers, something, mushroom houses, something.

Apparently this is good fun..?

The laughing warms my heart.  Assuages some of the guilt, but not all.  Something, somewhere is telling me that I shouldn’t be allowing so much screen time.  That they should be doing something… else. Creative? Meaningful? Outside?

I remember as a kid my Mum had a friend who was always interrupting me from my love of reading and ushering me outside to “get some fresh air”, as if sitting quietly, independently amusing myself with my book friends, and not getting into any trouble was somehow shameful.  Something to be reviled not revelled in.

Some guilts go deep I guess.

So excuse me, whilst I open the doors and let in some ‘fresh air’.

Mine away kids, Craft away little ones.  I’ll deal with the guilt.

And if you need me, I’ll be right here.

Not.Moving.
(Except to get cups of tea to sustain me)

Do you too have “The Guilt”?

What about? And do you know how to make it go away?

…From The Ashers xx

Things our kids argued about in the car today, before my first coffee:

• Whether or not google is actually a number.  (It kind of is, but it is spelt googol)
• Who knows the most.  (Me: About what? Them: Everything.   Okaaaay then.)
• Who is better at violin.  (Hard to say, they are both shit and sound like tortured cats)
• Who is better at Minecraft.   (Depends how you define better of course.  So they devised a competition, of which I will judge, where they will each craft a thing- say a castle- in a set time-frame.  I already know how this will end.)
• Whether or not Liam brushed his teeth properly.
• What exactly Coco meant when she said they do “skill building” first up on Monday mornings.  (By now I was shouting: You know what skills are, you know what building means, so “skill building” is both of those things put together.)
• Whether or not Loom Bands are better than Pokemon Cards.  (They are both shit and I’m close to banning both.)
• Whether or not One Direction used to be Coco’s favourite band.  (They were, briefly, in 2012.)
• Why Coco should refer to other kids called Liam by their first and last name.  (Apparently our Liam gets confused.  For example:  Coco: Mum can I go to Liam’s party?  Liam: What party?  I’m not having a party.  My birthday is in September.   I shit you not, this was an actual conversation.)
• Who the cat likes more.  (No-one.  She’s a cat.)
• Whether or not Coco meant to hit Liam with an ugg boot when she hit it with her tennis racquet.  (I don’t think so.  It’s unlikely at this skill level that she would have dared even think of connecting.  However I think she was overjoyed with the result.  Which, of course became the problem.)
• Who is better at the six times tables.  (Who cares, I still rule, so suck on that, under 10s.)

Somewhere around about here I told them both to shut-up.  I may have mentioned that they were both hopeless at everything, and that I was better, and would always be better, and they should both stop talking to each other immediately and look out their own windows, or else there would be no ‘devices’ for the whole week, including the weekend, if I heard just one more peep.

We drove along in blissful silence for at least thirty-seven seconds, as I hummed along to some young-person’s song on the youth network.  Some young person with no kids or mortgage, who was probably at this moment stressing over mid-year exams, or whether the beer-can wall would get completed before the next house inspection, or planning a snow-boarding trip to Perisher.  Mmmmm, yes, Perisher, with schnapps and sore bums from falling onto the the icy-snow and sore knees from, well, nocturnal activities…

A tiny voice from the back, broke my reverie.  “Mummy, Liam just looked out my window.”

Do your kids argue about bullshit?  Do they have their “own” window?  (And why did I say that?  Because now, there are “own windows, of course)

…From The Ashers xxx