I am one of those women who, according to Hatie Hopkins haven’t got their shit together enough to go out to work (quite where this statement places childminders, I do not know).
Nevertheless, by the second Friday of the Easter holidays my house was a bit untidy. My pathetic excuse for this was that I had spent several days immediately prior to the holiday sitting at my dining table pretending to be a proper functioning adult by writing stuff for money. I then took on some more paid work for delivery during the holiday, because, bizarrely, although I haven’t got my shit together enough to have children and go out to work, I do have the ability to do work and look after children at the very same time. But as I still hadn’t summoned sufficient intelligence and executive functioning ability to do something constructive like question my life choices whilst sobbing into my gin-and-tear-soaked duster, I decided to completely waste the day playing games with Freddie. How completely bovine and feckless of me.
We played several hands of ‘Go Boom’, in which you can only play a card that is either of the same suit, or the same value, as the one that preceded it. Freddie’s hands aren’t yet big enough, or quite grippy enough, to hold his cards in a fan so that only he can see them, so I don’t hold mine like that either. Since we can see each other’s cards, I’m trying to teach him t play tactically. He’s not quite ready for poker yet, but if we kept going I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it (actually, I think you could class this as a constructive activity – if all else fails he can become a professional gambler: that’s one step up from his mother, who was ‘just s housewife’ and devoid of any ambition or ability whatsoever).
We also played snakes and ladders, or at least, a bastardised, discount store, Fireman Sam version of it (since, of course, I’m too lazy to go out and earn the money to buy him proper games from WH Smith). Freddie was a jolly good sport about sliding down the hoses. But, then, I would fondly imagine that, wouldn’t I? I mean, it couldn’t possibly be that he has learned about fair play, or that he’s just a really nice little boy. No: it would have to be because he can’t understand about winning, wouldn’t it?
After a couple of rounds of that, we had a snack, then did some more work on our Lego car/caravan combo.
If this is how I indulge him, it’s no wonder his life skills, fine motor skills, and concentration still need work. What a good job he’s going back to school on Monday! There’s hope for the poor boy yet, even if his useless mother can’t get her act together. Is she really so bovine that she can’t see how shit her life is?
Disclaimer: This post is was written in the spirit of sarcasm, and should be interpreted accordingly. No responsibility will be accepted for heads getting wedged up arses due to any readers misunderstanding of the concept of ‘tongue-in-cheek’