My children were so badly behaved today that I left somewhere doing the parental walk of shame dragging them, one wailing, with me.

My day started like this….

And pretty much continued.

To their credit, they did come to the hairdressers and sit like almost angels while I got my hairs cut so let me slip that golden behavior nugget in here somewhere before I continue my tale.

Apré and post hair job was revolting, including a massive scene in the library.

It was officially an accident, but one tripped the other and the hell that ensued pretty much ended with me aggressively raising my chin to a tutting old man, because they were both flipping out, and not calming down, and someone dared to eyeball them and mutter under his breath I cracked it, even though I was eyeballing the shit out of them too.

Then we went to visit my grandparents. Their great grandparents.

The visit was rather brief as one of my children who shall remain unnamed, threw a massive wobbly.

All over an apple. I swear never since the Garden of frigging Eden when those silly twerps ate the one damn thing they weren’t allowed to scarf in the whole of paradise has an apple caused such an uproar.

The unmentionable child was allowed the apple if they only asked Old Nana for it… piece of apple butter cake, right?

Bup bow.

I remember my own great grandmother.

She was scary as, bro.

She was bony and frail, with hands like claws. I barely knew her, though. I only saw her less than a handful of times ever.

She was in an old people’s home with fluoro lights and grey lino, and I remember how when she came in for a kiss she’d squeeze your cheeks so hard you had an instant pucker ready for her whiskery smacker.

I hated everything about visiting her, especially the old part. Everyone was positively ancient to my 5-year-old eyes.

But my lot know Old Nana. Sure, we’ve taken a little while to warm to her, and we don’t see her as often as we should, but come on…..you’ve known her your whole life.

You’ve asked her for things before.

Not this time. This time everything went bad, and we couldn’t recover. Child started keening, then crying, then wailing, and couldn’t/wouldn’t stop.

You know when you get the feeling that people of a certain generation are just thinking  – that kid needs a good old-fashioned walloping.

The thought may have crossed my own mind to be honest.

I tried kindness.

I tried cuddles.

I tried joking.

I tried stern voice.

I tried scary whisper.

After 30 minutes I was freakin’ done.

I packed that circus up and got in the car feeling mortified.

I logically know that that’s what kids do, and I remember various times growing up where I mortified my mother……. like the time when the plumber, Mister Mackie, was there and I was being all dramatic to my brother and I announced in my best Oscar winning voice  –

YOU MAKE ME SICK!!

My mum was really cross when we got home from school that afternoon and our pipes were all fixed, but her pride in her kids was ailing…… she was mega cross.

Like I was.

It continued all the way home in the car and I asked said child why they were so sad and they replied –

“You broke my heart.”

How?

“I miss Daddy.”

Ah, jeez. That ripping sound was my heart.

I have two parenting manuals taunting me to read them at the moment… if only I had the time.

Have you had to do the walk of shame?

 

If you like what you’re seeing, stick around and have a flick through some related posts.

Want some more? Why not like my Facebook page now?

You can also subscribe via email, or follow me on Instagram and Twitter at The Holsbys to be sure you always Keep up with the Holsbys.