Tantrums.
Whining.
Fighting.

Tattle taling.

The constant mess and never ending cleaning.

The selective deafness when it comes to completing the basic tasks that are essential to getting everyone out of the house (did someone say toothbrushing and/or putting shoes on? Ugh.)Constant interruptions.
Interrupted sleep topped off with six am starts to the day.
Management of bodily fluids.

And so on.

These all contribute to the almost permanent knot of tension at the base of my neck, but there is one thing that sends me right over the edge instantly and everytime, all calm and thoughtful parenting techniques replaced by the ugly impulses of the bogan fishwife harpie.

My name is hissychick, and my parenting kryptonite is screaming/shrieking.

For some reason there appears to be a fault in the volume control of miss A of late, who has decided that the best way to get my attention is to up the volume.  I do not do being shouted at well*.  Even better, E has decided to try this shriek thing on too, seeing as it sooo effective in eliciting a response out of Mummy. Never mind that it is a somewhat negative one, in which you can almost hear the few remaining functioning brain cells inside my head explode while said head rotates three sixty degrees and green slime oozes from my mouth.

However  it’s not the angry shouting that is going to result in my premature demise, it’s the screaming as part of playing make believe.  I cannot blame A as the instigator of this beyond horrible behaviour, rather it is one of her little friends that started the whole “quick! monsters are coming! let’s scream and run away game” that is currently in favour with the four year old set.   Especially when it is being played inside where there are floorboards and the sound reverberates into your very soul.

The same friend who is coming over for a playdate tomorrow morning while her mother is at the doctors.  The very friend that will keep doing it over and over again, oblivious to the requests of any adult to cease and desist.

I think I just vomited a little in my mouth at the thought of it all.

Anyway, dear internets**, please distract me by telling me about your own parenting kryptonite(s).  I need to know I’m not the only one….

* We will not mention my recent yelling at A to stop yelling, wherein mr hissychick dissolved into fits of laughter. Ahem.

** I know it’s a bit rich asking you for comments when I haven’t been leaving many myself lately, but I promise to stop lurking and start posting. Once my ears stop ringing from the shrieking that is.

A (this morning): You’re not nice and you’re a bad Mummy!

E (several times a day): No Mummy no..naughty!

Must use exclamation marks to hide the pain!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes dear people inside the computer, that’s exactly what happened yesterday morning in the mad dash pre mother’s group, trying to get cakes out of the oven/drinks and hats ready/ washing on the line/oh god I can’t believe that I have been running around like a madwoman since six and four hours later I am running late.

Seeing as the authorities in this country are killjoys and won’t let me take miss E to the vet to be microchipped so I can use real time tracking software it means we have to-yet again- review our child safety measures around our house and yard.

Did someone say electrified fence?  I wish.

This post was one I so badly needed to read after carrying around a huge lump of mummy guilt since a less than exemplary parenting moment on Sunday morning.

I will say no more.

In other news…Underbelly!  Did you like it?  Have I ever mentioned that I was born and raised in Griffith and have a few tales to tell?

It’ll have to wait…battery going flat…..

It ended with E pulling off her nappy as she pooed, covering herself, her nappy and the lounge room floor with a backlog of crap so enormous that I am certain she must be at least one kilo lighter.

In between there has been screaming (me) and tears (again me).

I am still trying to dislodge moon sand from the cracks between our floorboards following what I stupidly thought would be a suitable after lunch activity.

Remind me again why I have been worried about returning to work?

I know my big almost four year old will settle back in with a minimum of fuss, her desire to play with her friends outweighing her reservations at being there without Mummy or Daddy (provided you don’t remind her that I will actually be at work in two weeks’ time, a whole other story..).

I am fretting big time for my baby girl. I will state upfront that I am not a fan of daycare for under two year olds, yet here I am about to leave my barely nineteen month old for two very long days each week.  Never mind the fact that she can already speak in many three and some four word sentences, and is a very outgoing, sociable and confident child.  This is an act of betrayal.

I am about to shake those secure foundations, walk away knowing full well the tears and separation anxiety this will cause, the pain and confusion at nap time when my littlest one will be put to bed by someone other than me for the very first time and without her beloved boobie.  That I will be away from her and her sister for at least eleven hours at a time.

What the fuck am I doing?