Rookie Mistakes is a series where guest bloggers divulge their parenting fails, and make us laugh or inspire us in the process.
This week, at the risk of sounding a bit Enid Blyton / Mary Poppins I am featuring a delightfully different blog from Polly who blogs at Right Royal Mother. I will let Polly explain….
Polly Sharpe is a writer, full time worker and wife and mother to two small children.
Right Royal Mother was started as a massively indulgent outlet for three things she spends time on: writing, following the Duchess of Cambridge (she blames escapism) and parenting. Each post is inspired by something the media has reported on re. the DoC and how it ‘translates’ to her life. It is almost all totally fictional*.
With over five years of experience in being a ‘right royal’ wife and mother, she is passionate about exceeding your expectations of finding something to laugh at her for.
KEY TO CHARACTERS
The characters in my posts are abbreviated; key as follows:
NW – not William (husband and father)
NG – not George (daughter, sister and two and a half year old)
NC – not Charlotte (son, brother and four month old)
NL – not Lupo (a Labrador)
Sometimes when the sleep deprivation is intense, the Googling of Kate Middleton has reached epic proportions and the dog is on the prowl, clean towels are the last thing on your mind. Here’s what happened the other morning:
It is 5.38am. I am tapping on my tablet with one hand whilst the other is poorly supporting a slurping NC at my right breast.
“She wore brown tweed to Sandringham yesterday,” I murmer, mainly to myself.
NW yawns and claws at the the rigging of NC’s blanket as I have all the duvet.
“But she left the children at home. I think, actually, their religious education might be suffering a bit. It is Christmas, and that’s the second time they haven’t been as a family.”
NW points out that we took the children on Christmas day and they lasted 20 minutes, with NG crying solidly because none of the carols were ‘Happy and Know It’.
“Maah-mee. Spotty horse has fallen down.” NG shouts from her room, still yet to realise there is no invisible bubble of steel forcing her to stay in her bed. This is wonderful and terrible at the same time.
Sated, NC’s head lolls backwards. I hoof him to NW and seize my chance.
“I’m having a shower,” I say, after I have deposited spotty horse, toddler and a beaker of warm milk on the bed too.
“Mummy, what you doing?”
“Having a shower.”
“Mummy, what you doing?”
“Having a shower.”
“Um, Daddy, what’s Mummy doing?”
I sigh as I remember all the towels are in the wash.
Sneaking past the the Labrador, NL, who, at this time of the morning, can find spotty horse faster than a homing missile, I nearly brain myself slipping on the brown nylon rug he sleeps on and has shed on his way up the stairs. I pick it up. I pull it over my shoulders. If I squint, it could be brown tweed.
But today, it will be a towel.
Ah, day trips. You’ve packed the bag, fed the dog, shut the door, made it to the train station … and forgotten to check whether there are any delays. SUCH a rookie mistake.
NW is pacing the platform. “I didn’t see anything about engineering works online,” he frowns.
“Well, I assume track improvements don’t happen off the line,” I quip, hoisting my jeans up. NC has lost a shoe already and my left breast is agony as we have been waiting for a train for longer than it takes NG to choose breakfast cereal so NC has not had his mid morning snack. I am wearing maternity jeans as everything is in the wash and although it’s gratifying that they are now much too big for me, they are now MUCH TOO BIG FOR ME and so the tummy bit keeps slithering down. And I haven’t had coffee.
“It’s coming! It’s coming!” shouts NG, beating her tiny arms against her raincoat (did I mention it was raining).
This was NW’s idea. “Let’s take the children to see the boats,” he’d suggested brightly. And because Kate had been in Portsmouth that day trying to pretend it didn’t matter that Ben Ainslie hadn’t been able to join in a big race, I’d said ‘yes’. But now the track improvements, chest ache, baggy tummy bit and gale have taken the idea down a notch.
“That one goes to London,” says NW.
“To see the dinosaurs? Can we go with it?” NG says hopefully.
“On it. Can we go on it,” I correct.
“Yes. Can we? CAN WE GO WITH IT DADDY?” NG’s bottom lip trembles. It’s a fair bet that tears are mixed in with the rain that lashes her eyelids.
NW turns to me. “We’d have to be quick.”
“Will it have a buffet car?”
“It’s a Sunday, so n … yes. Yes, it will definitely have a buffet car,” says NW, sensing the female members of his family slowly melting down.
The train on the opposite platform has now taken on holy grail proportions. I point the buggy decisively towards the footbridge and we break into a commendable trot. NW warms to the idea as he spots an empty table through the steamed up windows. NG hasn’t fallen over yet. We might just make it.
But on the homeward slope of the bridge, the train starts to slouch away.
“Wave to the driver,” NW says encouragingly, crouching next to his daughter. I am humbled and cheered by my husband and two year old’s ability to see the best in a bad situation and so, to even things up a bit, I give the train the two fingered salute as it cruises past.
You can follow Polly’s blog Right Royal Mother on twitter.
Do you think Kate Middleton makes any rookie mistakes?
You can read previous guest posts from the Rookie Mistakes series here.
If you are a blogger and wish to take part in the series you can find out more here.
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