Thursday 16 August 2012

Crap Mum - A Spoof

... Inspired by the wonderful Stick Man by Julia Donaldson and Alex Scheffler.


Crap Mum lives in a two bedroomed flat.
With Younger Dad, Little A, and a pretend grey cat.

One morning she realises the chores must to be done.
Crap mum, oh Crap Mum, this is no fun!

"Mummy come here!" yells Little A.
She's picked up the full potty,
and now wants to play.

"I'll pick it up, put it down,
and pick it up - and then

"Mummy, there is poo and wee
on the floor again!"

"Oh help! Oh No! Where's my chamomile tea?
I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,
I'M CRAP MUM, that's me,
And social services are coming for me!"

Crap mum grabs a cloth,
and surveys the mess.
But it ends up all over her brand new dress!

She changes her clothes with a grumble and a sigh.
Crap Mum, oh Crap Mum, the clothes basket is piled high.

"Can I help?" asks Little A,
"I want to make my dirty pants clean."
And together they sped to the washing machine.

"Give me more clothes mummy! Lets stuff them in."
But she traps her fingers, then makes a huge din.

"Oh help! Oh No! The plasters I can't see.
I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,
I'M CRAP MUM, that's me,
And social services are gunning for me!"

"I can't plan meals.
Or do arts... or do crafts.
I can't find that lost sock! I can't turn Twitter off!
I can't iron a shirt... or darn or sew - no,

Crap Mum, oh Crap Mum, beware of the front door!

A gust of wind, the front door slams shut.
Stuck outside - Little A on one arm - Crap Mum is feeling kicked in the butt.

"Oh help! Oh No! Little A has pee'd on my knee.
I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,
I'M CRAP MUM, that's me,
And now the police will be after me!"

Crap Mum feels stupid, Crap mum feels dumb.
Crap Mum feels clueless praying someone will come.
Crap mum feels low and rather stressed.
She scratches her head exclaiming "this must be a test!"

Then suddenly an idea.
"Mummy you have a plan?"
"Yes! To the nursery we must go ...
To phone younger dad, our super hero."

Younger Dad arrives with a smile on his face.
Jangling his keys, now back to our place.
He raises an eyebrow at his wife
and she says...

"Oh Gosh! Oh Thank you! Thanks again for helping me!
But... I'm Crap Mum, I'm Crap Mum,
I'm CRAP MUM, that's me,
And I'm doing my best for our family of three!

If you liked this, you might also like this!

Friday 10 August 2012

Childhood is .....

... A never ending feast of firsts.

The first rain shower. The first sun flower.
The first spider web.
And...The first proper snow fall.

Swaddled in layers of warmth. A cold button nose.
Daddy on one hand.
Imaginary friend, Bobby-in-a-Mow, on the other.

Tread carefully Little A. It's icy. It's slippery.
Can you hear the snow crunch, crunching under your feet?
Can you feel the chilly chill in the air?

Shall we make a snow ball?
It's so quiet and muffled out here!
Look, Little A, look, it's a snow man.
His nose is a carrot.

Hold Daddy's hand.
Can you see your footprints?

It's snowing again!
Look at that big, fluffy flake.
Drifting, drifting.
Down and down.
Can you catch it in your hand?

It's gotten very cold.
Your finger tips are frozen.
I think it's time for cheese on toast!

... An impromptu picnic in the park accompanied by a game of 'piggy and bunny.'

"Mummy, you be Piggy, and I'll be Bunny."

"Okay, Bunny."

"Piggy, would you like some sandwich?"

"Yes please Bunny."

"Piggy, you have the big sandwich, and I'll have the small one."

"Okay Bunny."

"Piggy, this is delicious."

"Mmm, yes it is."

"Piggy, lets do running around after this."

"Great idea Bunny."

"Piggy and Bunny are friends."

"Best of friends Bunny, best of friends ..."

This is part of a blog-hop organised by Patch of Puddles to highlight the plight of West African children who have been deprived by drought and poverty of such a childhood. The charity Worldvision has until 30th August to raise funds that will be matched £1 for £1 by the British government. Donations will provide food, sanitation, health services and long-term development programmes for destitute families. I tag Mummy Plum and Mother.Wife.Me to choose a photo(s) that they think sums up childhood to help spread the word.

Thursday 9 August 2012

Locked Out

"On no! You complete idiot! You total fool!" were my exasperated words as I stood outside the front door, Little A, clung to my side, watching my befuddled, pained expression.

"What's the matter mummy?"

"We're locked out."

Only two minutes earlier, we'd stood at the gate waving bye bye to H and her toddler. They drove away - at first, slowly, returning our goodbyes, then with applied acceleration once the car had crawled passed. Even then, premonitions danced in my gut - visions of being locked out of house and home. And my imagination wasn't disappointed. Behind me, the wind schemed, and with a Machiavellian gust, I heard something slam, clatch firmly shut. I turned around to find the front door securely closed. Bullet proof. My mouth and stomach joined ranks in shock.

My keys were inside.

My phone was, also, inside.

And this is where we found ourselves last Friday afternoon. Locked outside, me, Little A, in the elements, far from friends. No phone. No Keys. No nothing. How were we going to get back inside? More worryingly, how long were we going to be out here for? Younger Dad was at the Olympics enjoying the badminton, and wasn't due back till late. I had no idea if and when our next door neighbour, who inhabits the ground floor flat, would return. We could be stuck until midnight! Even worse, my newly intrepid potty adventurer only had one pair of pants and leggings to sustain her until we were rescued. No. No. No. This can't be happening. Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm.

"Mummy is having a nightmare Little A."

"We're having a nightmare Mummy."

"Little A, you must tell mummy if you you need a wee or a poo."


A thoughtful pause as we both pondered our predicament...

"Mummy, we can't get in."

"I know. I know."

I berated my self for not placing the lock on the latch, for not carrying my keys - I usually carry them, just in case, as a cautionary measure against something like this ever happening. And now I'd gone and done it. Duh. For ten minutes we loitered like two strays under the shade of the porch, the afternoon sun, creeping, chewing its way into the shadow. Oh no, Little A has no sun cream. She's not even wearing socks. I mentally flustered. I mentally panicked.

Then, I breathed. In and out. Long and slow. Calming. Calmer. Calm.

Suddenly, a glimpse of that most resilient of all helpers - 'Survival 101'. So, I prodded the front door. It answered with a sealed silence - "But it's ME, not a burglar!" I tried picking the lock with some discarded plastic. No luck. I attempted a shy kick. What was I thinking? It's a brand new door. "Mummy I need a wee wee," Little A moaned. I lifted her over the recycling bin and she pee'd with abandon - one of my better ideas -"well done Little A!"

Bravely, I mummed-up and started harassing passers-by. "Er, can I have a moment of your time please, we're locked out?" A few nervously glanced in our direction, walking swiftly by. Soon enough, a kind lady let me use her phone to contact Younger Dad, but, oh, the frustration, I couldn't remember his number. "Ooose that," said the voice on the other end of the line, no, that wasn't the warm tones of my betrothed.

The lady, wishing she could assist more, had to make her way home, but was soon followed by another kind soul, who stayed with me for nearly an hour. At first, he wasn't sure - nodding at the door, he asked if this was my home. I was a little offended by his question, but then, I had to agree, the present situation could be construed, by the more suspecting person, as a clever scam. He realised by the pleading look on my face that I was telling the truth. He offered his phone, pen and paper, and off to work I went decoding, unscrambling the mystery that was Younger Dad's number. I tried different combinations but to no avail, all my efforts rewarded by European dialling tones. The kind stranger, who, as it turned out, lived just around the corner, put me in contact with my doctors surgery. Of course! They will give me the number. But the line was persistently engaged.

In the mean time, Little A rolled about on the dusty tiles, chewing mud - which I yanked from her mouth, and battling against her afternoon nap; I could for see a difficult, teary bedtime ahead.

I still couldn't get through to the surgery, but a BURST of inspiration, like a beacon, a light house, illuminated the obvious answer... After almost two hours, the best idea I'd had yet. Why hadn't I thought of this before?

Little A's nursery, a five minute walk away, had all our numbers.

I thanked the sympathetic stranger for his help - we never unearthed our names - I think he was relieved I'd, at last, found a solution.

The staff at the nursery were brilliant. Little A used the potty, ate baked beans and played with the other children. Miraculously, I made contact with Younger Dad on the first call ....

"Younger Dad, it's me."

"What phone number are you calling from?"

"Er, the nursery, we're in a pickle, I locked us both out of the flat."

"Don't worry, the badminton has finished, I'm coming back now."

After an hour or so, Younger Dad arrived, and finally, finally, on arriving home, after four hours of waiting and wondering, after all the stress, I watched with utter relief as the keys were inserted into the lock and the wretched front door, at last, opened.

Needless to say, Younger Dad's mobile number has since been emblazoned on my forehead.

Even though it's Thursday, I'm linking this post up with Hello Wall's, Wednesday Witter.

Wednesday Witter

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