I found this quote about a visit to the seaside. Doing something that was really nothing. However it was the nothingness that made it a great afternoon out. It’s a quote which completely sums up the majority of family life. Domestic routine, board games, walks to school, little family rituals seem boring or irrelevant at times but one day they will be fond childhood memories of our children, just as our reminiscences are all about the mundane rituals that made up our childhood.

MUM’S VERSION.

Keeps a perfectly clean and tidy home.

Has neat, pristine children.

Serves healthy nutritious meals daily.

Reads a story every night to each child.

Helps with homework.

Grows her own vegetables.

Has fresh flowers in the house daily.

Watches favourite television programmes with their children and does not switch to the news.

Sews, knits and cooks perfectly.

Attends every single school event, belongs to the PTA and becomes a parent governor.

CHILD’S VERSION

Lets me choose my own clothes and shoes, knows its going to cost a bit, and doesn’t moan or make me choose a cheap version.

Listens to every problem with friends or school and comes up with amazingly wonderful solutions .

Takes me to theme parks or fun fairs once a week.

Is generous with pocket money.

Likes it when I’m stuck in watching television or playing the computer

Is not at all nosy, unless I want her to be.

Always looks fashionable and attractive, especially with me, in public.

Knows the latest chart songs and bands but disaproves enough to keep them interesting.

Is happy to give me a lift anywhere I want to go, at any time of day or evening.

Can’t cook so relies on take-aways and fast food bars.

The Government has decided to make cookery lessons compulsory for teenagers. Not a bad idea if they go back to basics and avoid trying to follow the fancy plans of umpteen TV chefs.

Boiled egg and omelettes, a good spaghetti bolognese or shepherd’s pie with plenty of veg chopped up with the mince, soups and how to roast a (free range) chicken, would be a start. I hope plans to provide ingredients for those who cannot afford them will ensure that these are good quality, locally produced and free range and not the cheapest, old, vitamin dead produce.

Maybe gardening classes will also become compulsory so that schools can grow their own vegetables.

I’ve tasted my share of grey fairy cakes and gritty buns baked by the children in nursery and primary schools so it will be interesting to see how teen offerings turn out. If media coverage of teenagers is anything to go by everything will be highly alcoholic or laced with cannabis.

Trying to be a good Mum is a minefield of confusion. Conflicting advice is fired from ‘experts, ‘ parenting magazines and the Government daily. Basically this means that I am not doing things that I should be doing or doing it too much, being too soft or too strict, allowing my children too much freedom or not enough and so on.

The whole subject is one that everyone else seems to know so much about. The most annoying advice comes from those who don’t actually have children in the first place, so they can keep their idealized view of what they would do, without having lived on call 24/7 with little cash and children who have their own personalities (quite rightly) and won’t just fall in with my ideas.

Family life is about love, communication, negotiation, anger, dramas, laughter and fun so it will never fit into some kind of ideal childhood format. I just wish someone would write something in praise of Mums and Dads, most of whom are doing a great job in a crazy world, rather than taking yet another pop and firing another label at ’single Mums’, ‘absentee Dads,’ ‘lazy,’ or ‘bad parents.’

We are advised to let our children have more freedom, while keeping them safely at home where we can keep an eye on them.

We are told to feed children healthily and encourage them to make healthy choices but there are still fizzy pop, chocolate machines and sweet selling tuck shops in schools. Manufacturers are allowed to duck and dive with the truth about the health and nutrition in their products and many schools still serve chips and breaded rubbish regularly. Even adults find it hard to resist temptation so why do we expect children to?

We are urged to spend more time with our children, while also being expected to work longer hours over seven days.

Most of us battle to instill a sense of self worth and pride in our children, whatever their skills and abilities, then we send them to school daily where they learn that only those who have the greatest academic skills and do best in tests, really matter.

We have an honest enough relationship to be able to teach our children sex education, but they know they can get advice and treatment without us knowing anything about it.

We seek to give our children the happiest possible childhood in a nation which created ASBOS to criminalise children, which preaches against binge drinking and then allows pubs and clubs to open all day and night; a nation that expects children to learn and be monitored from the age of 2; where the media message is that fame is everything and getting on a third rate, manipulative reality show is more important than earning an honest living doing something that you believe in; and where play comes second to achievement, road traffic, gadgets, designer labels and status toys created by the adult world.

I have become someone who sorts and pairs socks. Usually it’s the kids’ socks as I’m not too fussed where my own are concerned. I’ll wear odd socks, holey socks, the kids cast off socks – well Ben’s and Chloe’s, Timmy’s at a stretch – literally.

All unwanted socks are shoved my way so I have a drawerful of Mickey Mouse, Simpsons, glittery pink, stripey football, and fluorescent, which I wear randomly, getting caught out with the very worst combination when I want to make the best impression. At the school open evening Mr Harper’s eyes desperately try to stay focussed on my face, while sliding to my ankles and I suddenly realise that the smart black trousers that I pulled out of the wardrobe archive are slightly too short and I have ‘Boys are Smelly’ in silver on a pink background, on one ankle and luminous green with red skeletons on the other.

When Chloe notices where his eyes keep drifting and why, Mr Harper is the least of my worries, especially as her school progress is brilliant, so the role reversal is complete
“I have never been soooooo embarrassed in all my life. What will he think? You completely let the side down….” I humbly listen to her tirade and mutter that I didn’t mean it and I’ll make more effort next time.

So now I’m trying to find matching pairs amidst all the odd discarded socks in my drawer, while I wonder who determined that socks had to be a matching pair and why we don’t have a pair of bras and a jean or knicker. Also, why nobody ever told me that life could amount to sorting socks and thinking such crap.

‘Get her outta here’ I shout to Timmy who runs into the kitchen. On seeing the huge hole in the shepherd’s pie I had put out to defrost, and the satisfied slurping noises Fubby is still making, he ushers her out of my way.

If it is not the children driving me mad, it’s Fubby. Apart from the usual doggy pong she leaves wafting around the house like a rancid ghost, she is NEVER satisfied. Despite being very well fed, she begs snacks all day long from us, and any visitors we have, even those who patently disapprove of begging dogs. In fact I think she is deliberately worse with them.

Apart from this, chewing up my favourite books or items of clothing, or shoes – while they are on my feet, and sleeping, she does nothing apart from following me around so I see her looking mournful in every room I enter. So even when I do finally relax, part of me is wondering if she is okay and if not, what it is she wants – a walk, food, water, a game, de-fleaing, stroking, brushing…, clever old Fubby.

Then it’s the mess. Her hair is worse than dust. How does it get onto the top of wardrobes, in between the pages of books or even in the cutlery drawer? She buries bones in the settee and gets all her toys out of her basket at once. Yet can she do a bit of ironing or make me a cuppa in the morning?

While we eat lunch (sausages,) I wonder whether it would be better to feed Fubby the rest of the shepherd’s pie she ruined, for her dinner tomorrow rather than wasting it. As I’m pondering I jump as a wet nose briefly touches my hand and then my last sausage disappears under the table.

“Get her outta here!”

Sunday Sunday. The birds were tweeting as we skipped to church. All the shops were closed which made us so happy to have that special family bonding time. I made a lovely roast meal while the children played quiet games and read books. NOT! The sound of children shouting woke me. I staggered to the fridge for milk to make a cuppa and discovered that Timmy had fed the last of it to Fubby, our huge fat Labrador who needs milk like a dragon needs a lighter.

Throwing some jeans on and telling the kids to do likewise we piled in the car and headed for Asda. I left Ben to tie Fubby somewhere so she didn’t bake in the car. The store was heaving with families. Asda is church! Timmy and Chloe grabbed a trolley and headed for the DVD’s while I shrieked ‘NO’ in my witchiest voice scaring three old ladies and the greeter but doing nothing to faze my kids. “We just want a quick browse….” Chloe started. Ben appeared and noticed the trolley. “Oh cool are we doing a big shop?”“

“No we are getting milk and going home. I haven’t even had a cup of tea yet,” I squeezed the words through gritted teeth and felt like an old bat as they gave each other ‘humour her’ glances, ditched the trolley and followed. I was assailed with so much healthy eating propaganda after purchasing milk and three cheer up Mum’s not so bad, chocolate bars, I felt I had just bought them poison.

Outside, Fubby had disappeared. Panic, tears from Timmy, searching, asking people, and then somebody pointed to the other side of the car park where a trolley was being pulled along by a big fat Labrador. Ben suffered such an ear bashing on the way home that he chucked his chocolate bar at the others, went to his room and played Babyshambles full blast, all day. Chloe ate both chocolate bars, felt a spot sprouting and loudly wished for a proper mother who bought healthy nutritious treats. I drank tea and pondered the rest of the day. It was just 11am. Timmy consoled Buffy with the rest of the milk.