I have come to the end of a very common parenting cycle.
We had a bout of the flu, a bout of extreme whinging, interrupted sleep and generalised crankiness..(Mostly Mine).
I know it didn't quite happen like this, but I feel like I spent a whole week yelling and snarling at my sick children. Mum of the year.
I hate the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I go to bed... feeling like I have not said one nice thing to my children all day, and I know I have... It just doesn't feel like it sometimes.
With a bit of reflection time.... when things get back to resembling some sort of normalcy, I try to take a bit of time to reflect on just what kind of parent I want to be... it rarely resembles what kind of parent I am, but hey...it could be worse.
When I was a kid, (with cardboard shoes... walking in the snow and playing foot ball in the gravel), I had very few toys to amuse myself.... The Hippies were not anti "toys"... Just anti "too many possessions"
We had a massive veggie patch, bordered by a huge choko vine. This was our play ground.
I used to think choko's sucked arse big time, so there fore we spent a fair amount of our play time destroying it.
We made caves in them, trampled paths through them... and occasionally, we threw choko's at each other.
Someone had once given us a pack of plastic witch finger tips... you would insert your fingers inside of them and like magic you had witchy fingernails,.... Narfed, green, with bright red nails. I cant remember how exactly... but over time we ended up with just one of them left. We would still play with it.
The Midwife would wrap herself in an old sheet and hide in the choko vine with one witchy finger nail poking out of the leaves, summoning naughty children ... namely little brother.
It was horrifically scary for him.... it was wickedly hilarious for us.
One year, we had an abundance of choko's... putrid, green and flavorless. The Midwife, little brother and I set up an impromptu market stall out the front of our house and tried to sell them, for 50c each. You probably could have bout a kilo for 50c back then but hey..... we were ahead of our time.
We sat out the front for hours, maybe three cars drove past. One of them was the kid down the road.... He hung the finger at us.
Little brother gave up and went inside for a bit, he came back a little while later with a black umbrella and tried to jump off the fence post, to see if he could fly..
When we thought all was lost, a woman pulled up, looked at our wares and bought three choko's, one from each of us... she patiently waited while we bagged them individually in brown paper bags, she thanked us, wished us luck and got in her car and drove away. We ran inside to show off our shiny silver earnings.
I wonder if that lady remembers just how happy she made us that day... or that if she knew, some twenty odd years on, that I would still remember her and almost every detail of the afternoon I spent off loading the worlds rankest veg.
I want to be the kind of mum that stops to buy choko's. Sometimes I'm not... It's all good.
I'm totally Ok with that.
If life gives you choko's, just sell them at a ridiculously inflated price.