Who’s house is this?

Before I start my ramblings of today, I would like to point out that all in all my children aren’t that bad. Those of you already lucky enough to be experiencing the teenage years will know what I mean, while those waiting in the wings will see what I mean when their time comes. Teens are meant to drive you to distraction, its part of  parenting law, and to be honest if they were “step-ford teens” what on earth would I write about? The husbands still recovering from the catsuit blog, no way I can tell you about the basque (with tassels) yet!

I sometimes wonder who’s house I live in. I’m sure that me and the husband are the owners, we pay the bills, deal with the upkeep, cook, clean, run and manage the place yet at times I feel like the hired help, an inconvenience to be put up with, like an annoying lodger, tolerated (just). Why I hear you ask! The answer my children. Not the little’s, (the ones from about eleven down) no,they are still in the cute stage, want to tell you about their day, they enjoy chatting to you, they like being with you, still laugh at your jokes. Its the kids from thirteen up that make you question your place in the household. They the ones that look at you as though you have just crawled out from under a stone naked, the ones that can just about bring themselves to make eye contact and only talk to you if the can’t help it. The ones whose favorite line is “Your so annoying” probably because I asked if they would mind moving their own shoes from the front door, or pick up their bag, or even the fact that I might be a bit chipper. Even me breathing can set them off on a bad day.

Its sad how your children change before your eyes, like a butterfly in reverse. There is a reason we have kept having children, and its not because we’ve got a sadistic streak. It’s because we love “little people”, they are totally fabulous, mini blank canvases, the world their oyster. Sadly this phase doesn’t last forever and the inveitable happens. Overnight they go from cute to something quite different, however I can;t find a word for the opposite of cute, I’m sure you get my drift though. The thing that makes me laugh most is how they actually do manage to make you feel uncomfortable in your own home. Every day is like sitting a special exam where your set up to fail from the moment you open your eyes.

You go to the bathroom but have chosen the wrong time, its far more important that the twenty one year old has a shower at six, after all she starts work at twelve, I’m clearly missing the logic. You go to the kitchen, suddenly the nineteen year old walks in “Oh your in here” they say with a look of disdain. “How else is the cooking going to get done?” I think to myself, after all most families use their kitchens to cook in, I don’t think I’ve started a groundbreaking revolution here people. KITCHENS ARE FOR COOKING IN. I go to my bedroom, where the thirteen year old is sprawled across my bed watching a film, the look I get when I ask her if she minds if I actually use my room (its where I work) is not even printable. The loo (we have 2) is too cold to sit in at this time of year and the sitting room is out of bounds at certain times of the day. After all my teens/twenties either work or are at college or school, this is awfully hard for them and they need down time. Obviously I am totally unreasonable, I do nothing in comparison to them so why should I want to sit on my own sofa?

The dining room is connected to the sitting room so if I sit at the table no talking is allowed( in case I ruin their T.V watching.) Their rooms are totally out of bounds (unless I’m collecting dirty clothes, plates, cups etc) which leaves me with the hallway, the staircase (where again no talking is permitted as they can hear me) or the garden. Not the back garden either, now and again they like to  sit there under the gazebo talking to their friends on the phone. I cannot be in the garden when that is happening, so it’s best to stay out of it altogether. That’s another thing, they can talk to friends, watch tele, have a lazy day, have a bath, blow dry their hair whenever they like. I on the other hand manage to upset everyone weather I’m talking to a friend, going to the loo or having a bath, its always the wrong time. Even bloody two in the morning, honestly my life is not my own.

I have come to the conclusion that the front garden is possibly the best place for me, next to the bins. I could come in for cooking and cleaning purposes then leave silently when my services are no longer required, a bit like Downton Abbey. I might buy a cap so I can doff it.

Nobody tells you that when your children celebrate the birthday that gives them the key to the door, you get the virtual removal van for you. Welcome to the parent scrap yard. I have one other solution, they could move out! I’m working on that one. Before you know it the whole Wilkinson clan will be in the front garden in tents…. There’s a thought.


Mrs W

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