Ok, so there isn’t actually an award for the most daft parent. Which is a shame, because I’m pretty confident that I would win it.
I have checked, and there definitely isn’t one. But here’s why I think I’m worthy of winning :
The award for most…
I don’t know how many blog posts I have written where I have specified that any outing with children should be well planned. I don’t necessarily mean that they should be planned weeks or months in advance. Just that every eventuality should be carefully planned for. Yet time and time again, I don’t think to take my own advice. And this is the number one reason why I think I should win the award for most daft parent.
And by daft, I do of course mean stupid.
There was the time that I thought I could inflate a giant flamingo island using just my mouth. Then had to tie the thing to the roof of my car just to get it down to the beach.
Then there was the time that I thought taking 5 children to the cinema alone was a good idea. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
Let’s not forget about the time I lost Emily and Ruby in Asda. And then couldn’t even remember what they were wearing when a nice employee offered to help me look for them.
Oh and then there was the very embarrassing Christmas Day incident, where I got absolutely smashed on gin without noticing. Although that wasn’t technically a parenting fail, it definitely wasn’t a win. Nor will the kids ever let me live that down.
There was the recent ice skating trip. That was half planned actually, and not a totally daft moment. But it was very stressful.
And then there was today. Which shall be known as Jack and Jill Day.
Jack and Jill Day
I’m not going to be too hard on myself about today, because it just started off as a standard afternoon up the South Downs with some kids and a dog.
Actually no, I am going to be annoyed at myself, because there is enough proof now that I am a fucking disastrous parent. And should therefore know better.
There have actually been two things today that have me convinced I should win the award for most daft parent. Jack and Jill is just part one.
Anyway. Emily had her best bestie round today for a sleepover. They had a fake wedding last year on the trampoline in our garden, officiated by the Reverend Ruby. They have been known as Mrs and Mrs Cabbage ever since.
As you might know, we recently acquired a puppy that I didn’t want, but am now completely in love with. I am also poor. Because, well, January. So I thought we should go for a nice long (and free) walk along a route we have been to many times before. With the dog this time.
It started off well. Everyone had coats and wellies on, had been to the toilet and had lunch. Emily packed her backpack with bottles of water, the dog’s travel bowl, poo bags and her Polaroid camera. And off we went.
We had a great time up a local National Trust site called Highdown Hill. There were lots of friendly dogs and owners, lots of trees to climb and loads of places to play hide and seek. We actually walked pretty far, stopping for water and for Emily to take photos every so often.
Around 4pm, it was getting quite cold and would soon be dark, so I suggested we make our way back. Hilarity ensued, as Emily pretended she was sliding down a cliff, with only her wife and their trusty rescue puppy to save them. Ruby was given the job of acting as gravity, trying to pull Emily down.
The award for…
Child most likely to injure themselves will always go to Emily. Because not 10 minutes had passed since her cliff rescue skit, when she slipped and somersaulted down the hill, landing on her back with her arm twisted behind her.
Unusually for Emily, she didn’t bounce straight back up again. She lay perfectly still for the whole 2 minutes or so it took me to catch up to her. This put the fear of God into me. Its been less than 2 months since I found my Mum at the bottom of her stairs with a fractured spine.
I don’t think I even breathed for those 2 minutes as I raced towards her. Literally as I stood over her she started laughing. Which is what she does when she’s in shock. I had all these images flying about my head about having to call out the air Ambulance, wondering what I would do with the other Mrs Cabbage, Ruby and the dog. And was pretty close to full on panicking.
My daughter, the clown, stood up, said;
That was fun! I didn’t know I could do flips off the floor. But my knee hurts now.Emily 25th Jan 2020
Then got up and carried on walking.
I’m still shaking my head over how she escaped with a bashed knee but no blood. I’m thankful, don’t get me wrong, but I am flummoxed.
Actually, maybe she should win the award for most miraculous escape.
Drama over, time to head home
Where I walked straight into another drama.
A different kind of drama, but another drama that I managed to make worse by just being me.
The giraffe is down
Joe, my giraffe, or Joeraff if you will, doesn’t get ill often. But when he does, he goes downhill fast. He has both Gilbert Syndrome and Non–alcoholic steatohepatitis, and can’t process the usual pain killers most of us take to help. So when he’s ill, he just has to let it run it’s course.
He had got himself into a bit of a state about having to call in sick tomorrow. He doesn’t like letting people down, but because I wasn’t at home he was getting really stressed. Which doesn’t help his liver.
I went up to his room for a chat and tripped over something on his floor. I put my hands out to steady myself on his desk…
Which fell to pieces.
Taking his gaming monitor, his soundbar, and PS4 with it, narrowly missing the power cable for his TV on the wall.
For actual fucks sake!!!!!
Even when I’m trying to be helpful and be a good parent, it all goes to shit.
Thankfully, (so thankfully), no real damage was done to anything electrical. His desk is a write–off. But the electronics are good.
At least he saw the funny side. I, on the other hand, am now utterly convinced that I have the reverse of the Midas touch. I.E. everything I touch, turns to shit rather than to gold.
And that is why, dear readers, I think I should win the award for most daft parent. Ever.
And possibly also stand a chance at winning the award for the most useless and/or disaster–area parent.
What do you think? Do I deserve to win it? Have you ever come across more of a disaster area than me?